


Freaky Family

by Yoru_The_Rogue



Series: DC Yoru'verse: The Guen Trilogy [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, The Batman (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, My OCs, Not Beta Read, OC-centric, OC-heavy, Other, POV Alternating, Personal Headcanon 'Verse, Second in a trilogy, Sequel, The DC Yoru-Verse, also called 'The Freaky Saga' by my friends, major canon-blending, my friends' OCs, ocxcanon, recreation attempt of the Well-Rounded Mary-Sue Project, reviews not needed, some OCxOC, will edit here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2019-06-20 17:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 73,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15539685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_The_Rogue/pseuds/Yoru_The_Rogue
Summary: After the events ofFreaky Love, Batman and the newbie rogues search for a way to free Wraith and her brothers from the still-binding chains of their dark past.





	1. Prologue

Thunder rolled and lightning flashed outside the small apartment, throwing the interior into a brief, bright relief before fading, leaving only the rain that slid continuously from the sliding glass door.  Outside the trees bent in the wind like bizarre hands, all pointing in the same direction.  It was the sort of weather the Batman would have been perfectly comfortable in.

Jervis Tetch shuddered at the thought and turned his attention back to the laptop he'd placed rather precariously on a stool.  Lines and lines of text scrolled down the screen monotonously, making his eyes droop.  He shook his head, snapping himself out of it, and forced his attention back to the article he was reading.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Ever since the encounter with Professor Achilles Milo in the park that one evening, it had been eating away at Jervis as he tried to rack his brains and remember where he'd seen the man before.  Before he'd met Erin, before he'd gotten wrapped up in all the nonsense surrounding Guenhivyre Pendragon…before he'd become the Mad Hatter.  So he'd taken to scrolling through old archives on the websites of his former jobs, even the university he'd attended.  After all, it was totally possible he'd gone to school with the man.

But over three months of searching and doubling back over the same material had yielded no results.

"Jabberwock's teeth." he cursed softly, shutting the laptop.  A tiny moan came from beside him on the couch, and he jumped, turning to see if he'd woken Erin.  But the redhead slept on, an unhappy expression on her face as she brought her hands up next to her head, fists clenching as though she were fighting off imaginary bandersnatches in her dreams.  For a moment, Jervis allowed himself a small smile, brushing back some of her curly locks from her face, then frowned as he glanced at her left hand.

Clenched in Erin's fist, thrown into relief by the light reflecting off her engagement ring, was a note.

_The_ note.

Jervis's frown evolved into a full-on scowl.

Nearly two and a half months ago, the incident involving the ring of scientists after Guenhivyre Pendragon had been more or less resolved.  Guenhivyre was a cheeky little upstart among the Rogues Gallery who'd been more or less a protégé to Jervis's best friend, Jonathan Crane.  She'd insulted Jervis with that blonde wig, mocking his favorite piece of literature…but Jervis couldn't kill her like he wanted.  Not when she was Erin's friend.

He glanced back at Erin again, stroking her hair and giving the note another dark look.

Even among the Rogues Gallery, Guenhivyre Pendragon had been utterly unique.  Not because of her skill with a scythe, and certainly not because her accessories allowed her to become insubstantial, but because of her wings.  She had two deep blue bird wings growing from her back, the result of a genetic experiment conducted on her as a child.

An experiment she'd just barely managed to escape from, with the help of Dr. Kirk Langstrom, and her older half-brother, who'd become the vigilante known as Incubus.  As it had turned out, Professor Milo had been the scientist responsible not only for Guenhivyre's mutation, but also for the trauma that had consumed her childhood and locked away her memories.

The end result?

Guen's split-personality: the cold-blooded, venom-spewing spitfire known as Wraith.

Jonathan had adored her, probably because she operated so well under his tutelage.  Edward Nygma had liked her, probably because he'd fallen in love with Guenhivyre.  Jervis hated both sides of the young woman regardless.  And Erin?

Erin, like so many other young women who were up and coming among the Rogues, had loved Guenhivyre and her other personality like a sister.  The camaraderie of women was astounding.

In the end, Jervis, Erin, a vast number of their friends, and even the Batman, Robin, and Incubus had gone to rescue not only Guen, but also Ink and a girl named Stitches, who was an apprentice of the Joker's.  Dr. Emile Dorian, a second scientist who'd been responsible for the mutation of Guen's paternal half-brother, Lancelot, had disappeared, both with Lance and the man-cat Tygrus in tow.  Professor Milo had been released on probation, and Guenhivyre Pendragon, despite her sentence to Arkham with the rest of them, had been given a time of leave to spend with her mother, Clio Zeus.

But a week and a half into the time, and Guenhivyre had vanished.

She'd been tight-lipped and barely speaking to anyone before then, but suddenly, any communication with her had stopped entirely.  A day later, Clio was seen on the news, sobbing hysterically, saying Guen had vanished from her apartment without a trace and begging her daughter to come back.

No one had heard from her since.  Not until the note.

Jervis and Erin had spoken to all their friends, asking them to assemble for the big news, and everyone had met up at Jonathan's lab for it.  Everyone had been happy to hear the announcement, and Ink had wanted to immediately throw a party, when Killer Croc had arrived on the scene, carrying a large bundle of envelopes.  The envelopes had no addresses, no stamps, just names.  There had been one for everyone, and they'd all received the same note.  Not a letter, just a note bearing two words:

_Patience.  Soon._

That was it.  No signature, no explanation, just those two words.  Ink had identified the writer as Guen, but said that the sharp angles of the letters were more like Wraith's writing, as though the two personalities had been overlapping when she'd scrawled the message.  There had been a silent uproar, and all of the winged rogue's friends had been rather anxious since.

Erin in particular.  She'd hardly let the note out of her sights since receiving it a week ago, usually carrying it in her hand or one of her apron pockets.  Jervis saw her open it countless times, sometimes with tears in her eyes, sometimes with a smile on her face as though the little piece of paper were some holy shining beacon of hope.  Sometimes she would even mouth the words, as though just by speaking them she could bring Guen back.  The only person who was more obsessed with that piece of paper and those two words was Eddy Nygma who, they'd heard, had started picking fights and practically biting heads off if anyone dared to try separating him from Guen's note.  Part of Jervis had been relieved by the arrival of the note, while part of him was infuriated.  He had had to force-feed Erin most of the time after Guen had disappeared, and had gone to great lengths to try and pull her out of her depression.  Now that she had the note, Erin was starting to eat regularly again, and was cheering up.

Regardless, Jervis was furious with Guenhivyre Pendragon.

She'd been on his blacklist before, but now, with what her disappearance had done to his darling Erin, it was all Jervis could do for the sake of love not to plot out the winged girl's death.  She wasn't allowed to die; Jervis feared Erin would lose her will to live if she lost her friend for real.

But that didn't mean Jervis couldn't beat the cocky goth brat within an inch of her life in order to get the point across.  The problem was trying to do it in a way that would keep Erin from witnessing such brutality.

Sighing once more, Jervis leaned over, planted a kiss on Erin's cheek, then flipped the laptop open again.


	2. Gerard's Discovery

The old mansion had a damp, empty feel to it, and the air was cold and stale in several places.  It had been abandoned quite some time before.  Abandoned, but not left to a state of disarray.  Lancelot Pendragon had abhorred everything about his father, and when the inheritance had passed over to him, he'd fired most of his father's staff, keeping only a select few whose job it had become to maintain and upkeep the Pendragon mansion just enough so it wouldn't fall into disrepair.

The servants had been told they had this job in the event Lancelot ever chose to return to the mansion.  Personally, they all thought such a thing would never happen; the young master was changed after he'd returned from that long vacation as a child to that bizarre boarding school, and more likely than not, he'd never come to his senses and open the Pendragon mansion again.  And two months ago, the young master had vanished into thin air, leaving only his most trusted manservant to maintain and run his businesses, telling everyone that Lancelot had left on a short trip for his mental health.

Then a week ago, Lancelot had resurfaced and moved to the mansion.

One of the servants nearly had a heart attack and died from the shock.

Gerard surveyed the room before him with a measure of distaste, and it was only out of deepest respect for his young employer that he didn't immediately begin criticizing the poor efforts on the behalf of the older servants to keep the mansion in a habitable state.  This turned out to be pointless, however.

"You are displeased, Gerard?" asked Lance, looking up from his notebook laptop, large dark green eyes observing him with a measure of amusement.

"Highly, Mr. Pendragon." he replied shortly.

"Do you honestly think you alone would have done a better job?" Lance asked curiously, turning his attention back to his laptop.  Gerard curled his lip as he took in his surroundings again.

"I might have." he answered curtly, and to his astonishment, Lancelot threw his head back and laughed.

"Gerard, Gerard!  Ahh, what would I ever do without you?"

Still recovering from the shock of having seen his normally stoic master laugh, the butler-turned-secretary crossed his arms.  "Likely you'd have to do all of that scheduling on top of the paperwork, eh?"

"So modest, Gerard Montaine!  I'm adding that to your profile!" Lance murmured, shaking his head as he typed, a smile on his face.  Gerard blinked.

"My what?" he stuttered incredulously, moving around to look over his employer's shoulder.

"Your profile, Mr. Montaine.  I'm making you a profile on a dating site." Lancelot replied, an uncharacteristically wide smile on his pale face.  The manservant wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"I don't date."

"Oh, but you will!  You're too much of a workaholic, Gerard.  You need to find a way to unwind, relax a little.  And a few dates will be just what you need.  You're pansexual, yes?"

"You're missing the point, Mr. Pendragon.  I don't have time to date."

"Yes, Gerard, you do.  And you will."

"You're only stuck on the idea because you met Ms. Harker."

"Yes," Lance murmured, a rather pathetic, goofy smile spreading over his face, "And she's magnificent."

"She stamped your forehead.  Because you had fifteen different overdue materials.  And she slapped your face after taking the check you wrote out for them."

"Yes, she did.  And she's so honest and bold, unwavering in her beliefs and stances.  Yet she can be calm and gentle and sweet, like a loving lady of noble blood."

"You've only seen her a grand total of five times, and each of those at the library.  And she's still not accepted your offer for dinner Thursday night."

"Oh, she will.  She will!" Lance said confidently, his keystrokes increasing.

"What in the world is going on out here?" asked a smooth, soothing voice.  Both men turned to see an older redheaded man walking into the room, leaning on a cane, with a hulking gray-black figure trailing behind him.

"I'm simply amusing myself, Emile." Lance replied coolly, and Gerard had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything.

Unlike most of Lancelot's staff, Gerard knew the truth of what had happened in the young master's childhood, and he knew Dr. Emile Dorian was one of the men responsible for having turned the business tycoon into a werewolf.  He also knew that his employer both feared and deeply respected and admired the scientist, but it still baffled him as to why in the world Lancelot had insisted that Dorian stay with him after he'd returned from his mysterious hiatus.  And as for the man-cat, Tygrus…well, there Gerard allowed his boss a little leeway.  There was much Lancelot and Tygrus had in common, and he imagined that Lance wanted Tygrus to stay because the two of them could understand each other far better than most people.

"Amusing yourself?  I wasn't aware you had a sense of humor, Lancelot my boy." Emile Dorian chuckled, a small smile working its way over his features.  The werewolf lifted his upper lip and let out a low growl.

"Is there something you need, Dorian?"

"Company." the scientist replied, taking one of the nearby chairs.  Tygrus hung back in the doorway, looking awkward and blinking his large yellow eyes pitifully until Dorian said something.  "Do come in, dear Tygrus.  There's no reason why you can't join us."

"Thank you, father." the man-cat murmured, coming over to inspect Lance's work with the laptop.

"Are there any drinks around, out of curiosity?" Dorian asked innocently, and Gerard chafed.  Dorian seemed to think that the best and only way he could even acknowledge the butler's existence was to treat him the way most rich British snobs did their servants, and that usually involved a lot of subtle, domineering "hints."

"You could always ask me to go fetch something, you know." Gerard spoke loudly and coldly, drawing his boss and the man-cat's attention.

"Then by all means, go do so, Mr. Montaine." Dorian replied coolly, his dark eyes boring into the younger man.

Huffing indignantly, Gerard stormed from the room, the long blonde curls of his ponytail smacking his face as he went.  He was really starting to get fed up with Dorian, and half-wished Lancelot could be a _feral_ werewolf, just once, and rid them of the condescending dinosaur.

He was lost enough in angry thought that he took a wrong turn at a junction in the hall, and entered a corridor he'd not yet been to.  He was starting to realize his mistake and head back, when a door caught his eye.  It was made from the same wood as the rest of the doors in the house, but each of the panels had been meticulously and ornately carved with different scenes he couldn't quite make out from under their thick layer of dust.  Still, something about the door struck a chord in Gerard's memory.

Images started to overlap.

A younger Gerard Montaine had been in this hallway, back when the mansion was open, back when Artemis Pendragon had been head of the household, and he'd taken a wrong turn that time, too.  The hallway had been more brightly lit back then, and this same door was standing wide open, with people going in and out of it.  They wore uniforms of a moving van company, and they were carrying huge, concealed cases into the room beyond the door, complaining about the weight of their cargo.  Gerard had watched off to the side, then snuck past them into the room to see Artemis directing a few men where to put the crates.  The older man had then begun talking rather feverishly to someone, a look of giddy triumph on his face that hadn't been seen in years.  The young servant boy had been curious, but Artemis had also spotted him right away and shooed him from the room.  He had left reluctantly, with Mr. Pendragon whispering in his ear, "Not now, Gerard.  All will make itself clear in due time."

"Well now, Mr. Pendragon," Gerard murmured as the memory faded from his mind, "I'd say now's as good a time as ever to find out what you were up to.  Heavens knows I need a break from Dr. Catface and his high-maintenance demands."

He slowly reached out and brushed some of the dust from the wood paneling to reveal scenes from Arthurian legend carved into the door.  It was all so tiny and detailed, he couldn't find anything in particular that he recognized, so he merely shook his head, resolving to figure it out later, and reached for the door handle.  His hand came back filthy with a layer of thick dust, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hand clean.  He reached again and pulled hard, the door sucking away from its frame as though it had been in some sort of vacuum.  The air in the room beyond was old and very stale, leaving him coughing as he entered.

"What in the world…?"

He found himself in what was presumably a ballroom at one point, with suits of armor lining one side of the wall and pushed back against the double rows of columns.  One wall was facing out toward the grounds and garden, huge glass doors revealing a view of the ivy-choked fountain and broken stone paths beyond.  Lightning illuminated the night sky for a brief moment, and his heart began to speed up.  At the opposite end of the room was a grand staircase leading up to an overhead catwalk, more stairs, and several doors.

"Well, I do believe I finally found the stairs to the second floor." he muttered dryly.  Ever since they'd come back, Lancelot had been determined to find the stairs that led to the high second, third, and fourth floors of the mansion, but his search had been utterly fruitless.  But now it seemed there was indeed a hidden staircase, just as he'd thought.  Gerard scanned the room again, and frowned as he tried to spot what Artemis had been keeping secret.  Then, when the lightning outside flashed again, he spotted it.  Something was being kept out of sight, hidden behind and beneath the staircase.

"Bingo." he said grimly, crossing the ballroom.  It wasn't easy; the suits of armor seemed to be watching him, and the feeling made the skin on his arms crawl.  He finally slipped behind the staircase, and tucked away in its shadow as a large computer.  It was still dark and difficult to make out details, and cursing himself, Gerard fumbled in his pockets for a moment until he out the pocket pen flashlight he carried with him.  He turned the mirror on it ever so slightly until a tiny beam of white light hit the wall and bounced off the computer.  It seemed to be just that; an older, unremarkable 'super' computer.

But something was on it, just above the keyboard, taped in place.

Frowning, he approached it slowly and discovered it was an envelope.  Sighing with disappointment, he gently pulled the envelope off and began to brush the dust from it out of habit.

Then his eyes went wide with shock.

" _Mon dieu_!" the words left his throat in a gasp as the envelope fell silently to the floor, face up.

It was addressed 'Gerard Montaine.'

"Oh, this cannot be happening!  Oh, _mon dieu_!  This is Twilight Zone material…" he murmured, crouching down to shine the flashlight on the envelope in disbelief.  But there it was, with his name on it, written in the flowing, slanting handwriting that had once belonged to Artemis Pendragon.  Hands shaking, Gerard transferred his pen flashlight to his mouth, holding it between his teeth, and picked up the envelope from the floor, prying it open.  A sheet of paper, starting to yellow with age was inside, and when he pulled it free and unfolded it, it too was written in Artemis's handwriting.  Lightning flashed a third time outside the glass doors, and he began to read.

_Dear Mr. Montaine_

_I imagine it will be some time before you see this letter.  Knowing my son, Lancelot will have moved out of the mansion for some time before returning.  But just the other day you happened to come by the ballroom and see some men moving several crates covered with sheets into here.  Don't try denying it; after all, I myself escorted you from the room._

_Doubtless you now have questions, and I shall try to answer them for you._

_You see, Gerard, I've a bad feeling.  Have had it for several months now.  And this man I'm arguing business deals with at the moment, well, he frightens me.  Perhaps I'm just being paranoid, but I say a precaution taken is better than a trip to the morgue.  Call me grim, but my feeling is that bad._

_This is why I have installed my new security system.  You saw the pieces for it being brought in, Gerard.  Mind you, by the time you are reading this, it was probably already too late for me, so this security is pointless if I wished to protect myself.  But I didn't bring it in for me; it is for Lancelot and Guenhivyre.  I know I have been a terrible father to them both, and there's nothing I can do to set things right with them, but I refuse to see either of them hurt owing to my own stupidity._

_Now, perhaps you are wondering what you have to do with all this, aside from being inquisitive enough to have been poking your nose in the right place at the wrong time.  Fact of the matter is, Gerard, you are far too damnably clever for your own good, and I can see, even now, that Lancelot is coming to rely very heavily on you.  This is good, Gerard.  It means I can rest assured that even if Lancelot were to fire the rest of my original staff, you would still somehow find this._

_Now let's get down to business._

_The computer controls the security system, but you probably knew that after reading my initial line about the system.  Here's the catch: I've programmed the system to respond to your voice.  Order the computer to come online, and it shall.  But only for you, Lancelot, and Guenhivyre.  It is designed to protect my children however, so I have my doubts as to whether it could keep you safe, but I imagine it will still obey you regardless._

_You are no doubt by now questioning this in your head, but rest assured, Gerard Montaine, that when the time comes that you have need of this technology, it will all make sense._

_And no doubt he hates me by now, but please…when you tell Lancelot of this, try to help him understand that I do care about he and his sister._

_Sincerely,_

_Artemis Julius Pendragon_

 

Gerard re-read the letter several times over, swallowing hard, heart pounding.  The whole thing was just too unreal.

Finally, he remembered that he was supposed to be fetching drinks, and he got to his feet, folding the letter back up and tucking it away inside his shirt as he strode from the ballroom.

He had to tell Lancelot, but with Dorian around…

A cold feeling began to grow in the pit of Gerard's stomach, and he had the feeling Artemis too, would have felt that his wonderful security system had already been bypassed by the man most dangerous to his son.

****

He had no idea how he'd gotten there.  All concept of time and memory had fled from him, and he could barely piece together the fragments of the memories he had.  He'd managed to get through until he came to a building—an apartment, his vague memories supplied—and found himself standing in his living quarters, a dismal little joke of a place.  He shook his head, trying to clear out all the mist and muddle that had been plaguing him, and sat down to think, to try to puzzle out what he couldn't remember.

To make matters worse, _it_ had followed him.  And it continued to tease him as he'd gone through his day, silently dogging his footsteps, whispering dark, horrid thoughts in his ears.

For some reason though, now everything was quiet, and he could think.

He'd been going through motions for the past week, motions his body seemed to remember, even if his mind couldn't completely keep up.  And he felt it quite time to re-educate himself, to try to remember what it was he'd forgotten.

An open paperback book was lying in the middle of the floor, and he picked it up, clicking his tongue in irritation with himself.  Leaving it lying about like that, open of all things, would break the book's spine.  He was about to set it back on the shelf when something on the pages caught his eye, sparking a faint memory in his mind.  He tried to grasp at it, but it danced just out of reach, like a name on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't get out.

Mesmerized, he sat down on a chair and began to read, drinking up the words like a thirst-addled animal.  On and on did he read, until the glowing numbers on the digital clock on the wall read the early hours of the next morning.

He remembered now who he was.

And it was time he exerted his dominion over the fools he saw within the city.

Starting with Marshall Parker of Gothcorp.

*****

It was lunchtime, and Banshee found herself sitting at a bar next to Magpie, while Trick Deck busied herself preparing them all drinks.

"So tell me again," Banshee said as she polished one of her twin Uzis, "What exactly did you tell this guy?"

"Smashed harder than a china cup, love," Magpie snickered, "And when he found me, I just said I was room service for the hotel, cleaning up, and he was supposed to be gone already."

"And this was in his house?" Trick Deck asked, the corners of her mouth threatening to twitch upward in a smile.

"In his _mum's_ house, mate!" Magpie roared with laughter, slapping her hand on the counter.  "And then he toddles on back to her room, and I can hear him waking her up to say they had to leave the hotel!"

Banshee fumbled as she put down her gun, laughing hard enough she felt like her sides were going to split.

"He fell for that?  Girl, that's priceless!" she shrieked, giggling.

"Too bad you didn't get that on camera, hon." Trick Deck snickered.  "What kind of a haul did you get?"

But before the English thief could reply, the three girls heard someone talking, and as they looked up, Oswald Cobblepot rounded the corner of a hallway, Edward Nygma following right behind him.

"…Still nothing.  I'm not sure what I'll do, Oswald." Nygma was saying, staring at a rather forlorn piece of paper in his hands.

"Rest assured, my conundrum-dazzled friend,  I'll be keeping my eyes open—all of them, mind you—and if I should see anything, I'll alert you." Cobblepot said gently, giving the taller man a concerned look.

"And your fee for these services?" the Riddler asked, finally looking at him, but the Penguin was already waving his hand dismissively.

"What's a favor between friends?" he answered smoothly, and the three girls turned back to one another before they could be noticed eavesdropping.  Banshee was the first to speak up, keeping her voice low.

"Still no sign since the note, huh?" she muttered.

"Doesn't mean Eddy hasn't been hauling backside." Magpie said in bitter tones.  A mix of emotions clouded her face and she tossed back a long draught of the vodkashake in front of her.  "You'd think that bloody note was some treasure map and he's convinced he's been reading it wrong each time he comes to another dead end."

"Everyone just needs to take this a little bit easier." Trick Deck said calmly.  "I know everyone's concerned about Guen.  I am too, but the fact of the matter is, if she says she's going to be back soon, then she will.  It's just the kind of person she is."

"Yeah, you're right," Banshee said, a small smile lighting up her face as she stirred her garnish umbrella in a strawberry daiquiri.  "Guen's gonna be back soon.  Ed's just taking it a bit rough."

Magpie muttered something over her shake, but it was too low and fast for either of the other girls to catch it.

"Sorry, hon?  What was that?" Trick Deck asked in a casual, yet guarded voice.  The thief looked up from under her mop of pink hair and forced a smile on her face.

"Nothing.  The shake is good." she said sweetly.

"We should make a toast!" Banshee said suddenly, raising her daiquiri.  "To drunk idiots who wake up their mothers when they get robbed!"

Smiling weakly, Magpie raised her shake and they clinked glasses.  Trick Deck too, raised hers, then sipped at it delicately, her calculating gaze never leaving Magpie.  
She knew about Nygma's feelings toward Guenhivyre Pendragon, as well as Vanessa's feelings toward Eddy.  The problem was, nobody knew what Guen felt about Eddy.  Still, May Markowitz knew the winged girl was more likely to give up the Riddler as a romantic partner if she felt that she would impose on anything that might be going on between him and their English friend.  That's just the sort of person—or was it persons?—Guen was.

Regardless, May had seen dark look that had come over Magpie's face for the brief moment she murmured her unheard threat, and May didn't like it in the least.

"Vanessa, I'm leaving." the Riddler's voice cut through her musings, cold and harsh, and Magpie looked up with a jerk.  For a moment, she said nothing, then nodded and indicated her friends.

"I'll be along in a bit." she said, a hopeful look on her face, as though she wanted nothing more than for Edward to object.  Unfortunately for her, the dark-haired man showed no sign of caring, and he spun on his heel, leaving the Iceberg Lounge without so much as a glance backward.  Magpie's smile slipped from her face and she turned back to her shake, crestfallen.

"I need to go talk to Erin." she muttered after a moment, pushing away from the bar and slipping off her seat.

"What?!  I thought you were going to stay with us for a while!" Banshee squawked indignantly.

"I'll come back later." came the reply, and the thief put up her hood and fled.

"What's got into her?" Banshee demanded, staring at May.

"Oh, sweetie," the older woman sighed, "You and I both know that Eddy likes Guen, right?"

"Duh."

"And nobody knows if Guen sees him as anything other than a brother, right?"

"Double duh!"

"Vanessa likes Edward.  So how do you think she's handling his obsessing over Guen's note and practically pushing all of his lackeys to exhaustion to find her?"

Banshee's eyes went wide.  "Oh." She turned and looked at the door Magpie had left through.  "Oh, _shit_."

"That," May said wryly, "Might just be the understatement of the year."


	3. The Breakout

Ink squirmed to one side of the sofa, curling herself up into a ball as best she could.  New arrivals at Arkham didn't occur too terribly often; more or less, the asylum always seemed to be bringing their regulars back in again, but getting a new person or two in wasn't a rare occurrence.

This one, however, made her slightly uncomfortable.

"What troubles you, dear Ptah?  Simply say the word, and I shall remove it from your sight!" the big man declared flamboyantly, dark brown eyes watching her as though she was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

_You giving me so much attention, for starters_ , she thought grimly, but she stayed quiet.

Ramsey Samuel Kingston had been brought in late last night, and had somehow wound up in the same schedule as Ink for group therapy, as well as recreation time.  He'd been found in the office of Marshall Parker of Gothcorp, wearing a rather unorthodox mummy costume and claiming he was Pharaoh Ramses II, reborn.  There'd been evidence that he'd strangled Mr. Parker with a length of binding cloth, and he'd immediately tried to fight off the police…with a staff, a crook, and a flail.

And given his insistence that he was a mummy brought back to life, Detective Harvey Bullock had been the one to escort him to Arkham.

When Ink had first seen Bullock walking Ramsey down the hall, she'd been excited to see the detective, and found the new inmate interesting.  He'd been very calm, and offered her a friendly smile before being walked on past her to an unoccupied cell.  At group therapy time, though, things had gotten a little odd.  Ramsey had studied everyone carefully, as though they were relatives whose names he was trying to remember.  He'd taken one look at Maxie and immediately greeted him as "Zeus," much to the Greek man's delight.  Ink had thought Ramsey was just being friendly and indulgent…until he had immediately called Harley Quinn "Hathor" and Pamela Isley "Sekhmet."

"Who?" Ink had asked, slightly puzzled.  The names sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite figure out why.

"They are the two forms of the same goddess!" Ramsey had explained, a fever glint in his eye.  "Do you not see?  The fierce form of the fighting lioness, Sekhmet—" he gestured toward Pam, who sat a little straighter and looked faintly pleased, "—and her gentler form, the cow goddess Hathor!"

"Hey!  Watch your mouth, joik!" Harley had snapped, clearly less than content being mistaken for a cow goddess.

"And clearly you," Ramsey had then said, gesturing toward the ink that was ever-running from her eye, "Are Ptah, the embodiment of creativity and artistry."

This sudden attention hadn't diminished since group therapy, and it made her feel rather awkward.

"I-I'm fine…" she muttered, wishing the big man would go away.  It wasn't that he was unpleasant or rude or irritating.  Far from it; in fact, his voice was pleasant to listen to, with a clipped, posh British accent.  If she could have hazarded a guess, Ink would have said he definitely had one British parent and an Egyptian parent, given his coloring.

"But something troubles you!" Ramsey insisted, dark eyes blinking slowly, "It is my duty as Pharaoh, alive, dead, or otherwise, to remove from the sight of the gods anything that they find displeasing."

"Have you ever considered removing yourself?  That might be a start." snorted a dry voice.  Ink glanced over, seeing Jonathan Crane look up from his chess game with Arnold Wesker, glaring daggers at Ramsey.  Normally she would have been thrilled to see him, but a feeling of dread settled in her stomach at his sudden confrontation of the larger man.  Ramsey turned slowly, fixing Jonathan with a glare nearly as dangerous.

"Excuse me?" he intoned carefully, his voice going soft.

"I said, have you considered removing yourself from Ink's presence?  Did it occur to you that you are the thing bothering her?  It certainly has to most everyone else here." Jonathan shot back, making Arnold jump in his seat.

Ramsey's eyes only narrowed.  Ink started to make desperate gestures, hoping Jonathan would see and get the hint to stop.  The British-Egyptian did _not_ seem like the sort of person to pick a fight with.  However, the doctor of fear ignored her, and continued to chide the bigger man.

"After all, you're almost as annoying as Joker." he added.  "Almost."

"Impossible!" Ramsey gasped, scandalized.  "Nobody bests The Mummy!"

"Not to mention you're arrogant," Jonathan went on, "Heavens knows you're getting on poor Ink's nerves.  You're certainly getting on mine."

"You try my patience." Ramsey growled.

"I wasn't aware idiots had patience." Jonathan yawned, turning back to the chess game.  Ramsey surged forward with a roar, and it was only by the quick reflexes of several orderlies that he was stopped short before he could reach Crane's neck.

"You play a dangerous game!  Do not presume to tell The Mummy Ramses that he may not commune with his gods, you thin, barb-tongued papyrus reed!"

Jonathan scooted his chair back, staring at Ramsey with a measure of shock and disgust in his expression.  "Keep that man away from me!  He's a lunatic!"

This statement seemed to amuse the remaining orderlies and doctors, who promptly began to snicker.  Ink just sighed and shook her head.  She'd already gotten mad at Ramsey earlier for another ill mention of Jonathan, but the big man hadn't seemed the least intimidated by the display of her…unusual abilities.  If anything, it only served to further root his belief that she was Ptah, or whatever.  She only curled up tighter on the couch, bringing her knees up to her chest.  She didn't always get bored but this wasn't the sort of eventful day she'd wanted at Arkham, either. 

More guards burst into the room, and she couldn't help but wonder just how well their communications systems worked here, when she realized that something was wrong.  The guards were pale-faced, covered in sheens of sweat, and staring in terror at the others present.

"We've had a security breach!" one of them gasped hoarsely.

"But the patients—" one of the doctors present started.

"Not the patients!" another of the guards panted, "Someone's broken into the asylum!"

*

She strode through the halls with ease, humming a particularly dark hard rock tune under her breath as she went, months and weeks of walking the halls before carrying her feet from place to place.  Several guards, orderlies, and even a few of the doctors had already attempted to bar her passage, but the second they realized she was untouchable, all their bravado and moxie abandoned them and they fled as though they'd seen a ghost.

"Well, I am," she said aloud to herself, amused by the thought.  She took a left past the low-security ward and began heading for the recreation room.  She'd never visited that place in particular, not when she'd been here before for her criminal psychology class, but she still knew how to find it.  One might question her logic, but more likely than not the madhouse had at least one group in the time block for recreation at the moment, and there was a good chance one of them would have the information she needed.  All she had to do was get it out of them, then finish her mission.  Yeah, she had to stay within parameters, but so much of the job had been left up in the air, so she could rely on her own problem-solving to try and work it out.

She rounded another corner, almost running smack into a female doctor with a long blonde, braided ponytail.

"Whoops, my bad!" Wraith chuckled, bringing her bracelets together and becoming solid again.  The woman opened her mouth, possibly to shout or scream or something, but the thief was faster, her switchblade scythe already open in her hands, and she brought the butt end of it sharply against the woman's head.  Eyes rolling up, the doctor's knees began to give way, but Wraith was already moving again, donning her black hood as she ran to the rec room, not waiting around to see her victim hit the floor.

*

Ink sidled over next to Jonathan, not out of fear or wanting direction, but just to feel safer.  Ramsey stayed back, possibly out of interest in discovering what was occurring.  The orderlies looked to the doctors for direction, but before anything could be completely organized and executed, the rec room door opened sharply, slamming against the wall with a resounding bang.  The guards rushed forward immediately, blocking the intruder from view, but the figure moved quickly, slamming them each in the side of their heads, nimbly leaping out of the way when the guards tried to overwhelm her.  Within moments they were all on the floor, and the orderlies and doctors could only stare in shock, the patients in surprise and curiosity.  A young woman, right around Ink's age, was standing in the doorway, her face shrouded by a black hood.  For a second Ink wondered who she was, but even if she'd changed the skirt in for black capris, the long, slim scythe twirling in her hands gave her away.

"Sorry to interrupt, but if you'll just answer my question, I'll be out of your hair, lickety-split, 'kay boys?" the girl said in a voice that sounded roughly like an angry female singer.  Her demeanor switched abruptly, going from an overdone friendless to an icy cold that would have had Mr. Freeze giving a golf clap of approval.  "Where's Harvey Dent?"

But the doctors said nothing.  They couldn't; they had frozen on the spot, and when she spoke, they started glancing among themselves, obviously torn as to whether or not they should help the woman.  Unfortunately for them, Harley Quinn answered for them, sounding only too happy to do so.

"Oh, Harvey?" she said cheerily, "Go down the hall, last door on your left!"

The girl inclined her head to the blonde.  "Thanks, Harl."  And with that, she turned to leave, exposing two dark blue wings folded against the back of her sleeveless hoodie.  Ink took a sharp step forward, knowing it was now or never.

"Guen!" she cried out, and the girl paused, her wings opening, making Ink gasp.

The wings had grown again, almost to a six-foot span.

The girl lowered her hood, revealing piercing green eyes and a face that most of the Rogues Gallery hadn't seen in almost three months.  She grinned wickedly.

"Close, but no cigar." Wraith chuckled.  She folded her wings against her back again and charged from the room.  Ink was preparing to lash out, to use tendrils of her ink to drag Wraith back and give her an explanation for her disappearance, but she'd barely thought about it when she saw Ramsey surge forward, chasing after her friend, shouting something.

"Ink!" Jonathan said in shock, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder, making heat flood through her arm.  She looked up at him, and she could see the utter astonishment on his face.  After all, Guen had been his understudy for a while, and Jonathan still seemed to consider her a student and a friend.  He'd not been overly concerned when she disappeared, and had been one of the few people to reassure most of them that the winged girl would resurface when she was ready.  But it seemed he was just as surprised as everyone else to see her come back so soon, and to ask for Two-Face, of all the people.

"Don't worry, Jon," she said, quickly bringing her hands together to form one of her little ink-creatures.  She set it on the floor, and it raced off in the direction Wraith and Ramsey had gone.  "We'll get some answers!  And when we get her back here, I'm going to sit her down for a long talk!  She didn't even call!"

*

Wraith glanced over her shoulder as she ran, realizing she was being chased, and frowned in mild annoyance.  The guy was tall, tan and his dark hair fell to his waist.  Either he was some kind of hippie, or had a blind fashion consultant.

"Wait, Priestess of Horus!" he shouted in a clipped British accent.

"What the heck…?" she muttered, "Keep your nose out of my business!"

"Don't speak to me so informally!" he snapped, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"I don't have time to speak to you at all, you basket-case!" she snapped back, returning her attention back to the direction she was running in.  She didn't get too far however, before her hood was yanked back and she was nearly pulled, choking, off her feet.  The tan Brit glared at her, his dark eyes fierce.

_Geez!  For a guy that big, he moves like track runner!_   Wraith thought.

"What do you want?" she growled.

"Obviously you're organizing an escape, Priestess of Horus.  And even if I'm only a resurrected shell of my former might and glory, I am still Ramses II!  You must take me with you!" he rumbled, puffing out his chest and standing upright.  Orderlies appeared at either end of the hallway, and the thief ground her teeth, agitated.

"I don't have time, you dingbat!" she hissed.

"Neither of us do!" he shot back.

Wraith stared at him, her eyes darting briefly back to the orderlies, who were approaching with caution, syringes in hand.  She couldn't afford to mess this up, and she was already running out of time.

But as she sized the man up, a thought formulated in her mind.

"Okay then," she said slowly, "If you can find whatever effects you need and get out the door, to the parking lot, and out the gate in five minutes, you can come."

"Excellent!" he said, putting her back down and taking off in the opposite direction.  She half-wondered what he was going to do about the orderlies, when he lowered his torso, leading with his shoulder, and barreled right though them like a football player.

"Well that works." she said with a shrug, turning her attention back to the orderlies that were almost on top of her.  "Sorry, boys."  She feinted a kick, which the closer of the two fell for, and as he moved to avoid it, she jabbed his stomach with the end of the scythe, knocking the wind out of him.  Leaping into the air, she snapped her wings open, slowing her fall just enough for her to kick out and land on the chest of the other man.  He went down hard, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat, and he whimpered in pain as she felt something beneath her combat boots shift, making a sickening crunch.

"Oops.  Sounds like a rib or two." she said sweetly, though inwardly she could feel Guen at the back of her mind, wincing in sympathy.  She leaned down and bashed her fist on the top of his head, knocking him out before turning back to his partner, who was staring, white-faced with shock.  "You might want to worry about helping him.  Oh no, wait.  I forgot: you can't."  And she swung her scythe again, catching him on the side of his head and slamming him into the wall.  He bounced off with a loud crack, and slid to the floor, unconscious.

"After all, you're sleeping on the job." she chuckled coldly, ignoring the protests her other personality was making.  Instead, she raced on, lunging for the door.

The ink-creature wasn't far behind, and it carefully skirted the fallen men, hiding behind one of them for cover as it watched Wraith approach a door, and say something to the person inside.  The winged girl drew something from the pocket of her capris, stuck it in the lock on the door, and pulled a lighter from one of her combat boots to ignite it.  Once the fuse sparked, she snapped the lighter closed, then ducked against the opposite wall and covered her ears.  There was a small explosion, and the door fell inward, smoke rising from the lock as the inmate stepped out.

"Effective," he remarked as his mismatched eyes studied the smoking lock and the downed orderlies.  "Messy, but effective."

"C'mon, Papa Bear!" Wraith hissed, jumping to her feet, seizing one of his elbows as best as his straitjacket would allow.  "We've gotta beat it!"

"My coin." he said gruffly, sighing with relief when she drew it out of her pocket.

"We don't have a lot of time before the guards find the boys parked outside and call the police!" she hissed, and when he nodded, they charged for the emergency exit, ignoring the alarm that went off as it opened.  The ink-creature moved then, racing after them as fast as its tiny body could allow, and when it came close enough, it sprouted tiny limbs, jumped, and landed, clinging for dear life to the heel of one of Wraith's boots.

"Not bad, kid.  Not bad at all," Two-Face said as they ran over the grounds.  She'd transferred the scythe to one hand, using the other to grip his arm as they went, helping to balance him.  Most of the guards were behind them, chasing them, but no one was paying attention to the main entrance.  It was a clear shot, until someone shouted, "CLOSE THE GATE!"

"Crap," Wraith muttered.

"Keep going!" Two-Face said gruffly.  They put on a burst of speed as they came close to the doors, which were starting to slide closed on their track.  Five feet away, Wraith snarled in frustration, collapsed her scythe and flung the scarred man forward, making him stumble awkwardly through the rapidly shrinking opening.  Once he was out of her hand, she bashed her manacle and wristband together, immediately receiving the weightless, floating feeling of insubstantiality.  She heard more shouts behind her, and just as the gates closed, she pushed herself through them, the metal cold on her essence.  She pulled through and kept running, waiting until the cold passed to bring the bands back together.  Two-Face had kept running for the car parked down the road from the asylum, hidden in the shade, but he glanced over his shoulder to check if she was still behind him.  He nodded as she became solid again, giving a grunt of approval, and they continued to stumble down the hill.  The Two-Ton gang must have recognized them, as the lights on the car immediately blinked twice and the engine roared to life.  One of them rolled down the window as they swung around to expose the doors, yelling, "Hurry, boss, missy!"

Wraith bared her teeth in a quiet growl.  She was going to have to remember him for that 'missy' remark.

The door was thrown open just in time for them to tuck and roll inside, and it was only when Wraith landed on her seat that she remembered the strange British man.

"Oh, well.  Snooze, you loose." she muttered.

"What was that?" Two-Face asked, turning his yellow eye on her.

"Some inmate wanted me to bring him with us.  Called me a—"

"PRIESTESS OF HORUS!" a voice roared, making them all jumped as they looked back at the gate.  The Brit in question was there, a box of what could only be his effects tucked under his arm.  The guards were right behind him, but he once again moved with unusual speed, throwing the box high into the air, sending it sailing over the gates.  Seizing the gate in both hands, he gritted his teeth and pulled, wrenching them apart just enough for him to wedge himself through, and he tripped as the gate shut behind him, just managing to grab his box again as he went rolling down the hill.  Wraith could hear him make small noises of pain as he went, but he swung halfway down, bringing his feet in front of him, and using his momentum to launch himself upright, pushing off on his elbow, and he was running toward them again.

"What the—" one of the lackeys murmured.

"Guessing that's him?" Two-Face asked, his voice rumbling with dry amusement and apathy at the same time.

"Yyyyep." Wraith answered.

"CATCH!" the man yelled, and she barely had time to put her hands up before his box came flying at her head.  Her fingers just closed around it, and she lowered the box just time to see the man's feet leave the ground as he soared toward them, practically pouncing on the car's floorboards.  She was only relieved she and Dent managed to pull up their feet in time; she didn't want to know what he'd do to the poor sap if the Brit had broken a couple of toes.

"Pull your feet in!" she growled, doing it for him and yanking the door shut.

"Step on it, boys!" Two-Face snapped, and the driver slammed his foot against the gas, the enormous black-and-white car roaring down the hill and away from Arkham Asylum.

*

Edward Nygma was in the middle of attempting to mediate a fight between two of his best, Magpie and Rook, when one of his less intellectually-inclined runners burst into the room.  He looked at the man in annoyance, and the two bickering kids fell silent.

"If this is about Aidan O'Ryvin, tell him he's got the job." Eddie said in a dangerous voice.

"N-not that, sir!" the man gasped, "You have to come see this!"

Scowling, the Riddler stepped between Magpie and Rook, who followed a second later as the runner urged them to come out to the main room.  Many of the other runners, as well as the newcomer Aidan, who called himself  The Raven, were standing around, watching a news bulletin.  Summer Gleeson was talking animatedly to a doctor at Arkham, who was spreading his hands helplessly.

"—have no clue what this was all about, but she just charged in here and started attacking us.  Wanted to know about Harvey Dent."

"And do you think this girl may have some connection to the notorious Two-Face, Dr. Avery?" Summer asked.

"I-I-I don't know!" he stammered back.  "To my recollection, out of all the criminals she used to interview here, Dent wasn't one of them!  I don't why she's even doing this; Guenhivyre Pendragon was such a sweet young lady!"

"But clearly," came a new voice, this one with a slight German accent, and the camera panned around to take in a balding, rotund man approaching the newswoman, "Miss Pendragon has shown herself to be…unstable.  And with her helping not only Harvey Dent but also the newest arrival, Ramsey Kingston, to escape this morning, I presume it safe to say that we may need to consider admitting Miss Pendragon through our doors again, as a…patient."

"And who are you, Mr…?" Summer asked.

"Strange, Miss Gleeson.  Dr. Hugo Strange." the man said with a smile made sinister by the glasses that hid his eyes from view.  "And I have just been informed, owing to his previous inaptitude to keep the asylum under control, that I am to be replacing Dr. Fenton Avery here as the Chief of Psychiatry."

Dr. Avery paled.  "Y-you can't be serious!"

"Oh, but I _am_ quite serious.  I've been told to relay to you, Dr. Avery, that the appropriate forms are already on your desk, and that you must report to Dr. Bartholomew at once." Strange replied smoothly.  A sheen of sweat covered Avery's face, and for a half a second, he looked ready to object, but finally he turned and left, disappearing from the view of the camera.

"Oh…oh, geez!" Summer muttered, looking back and forth between the two of them.  Strange offered her a semi-pleasant smile.

"Do you still have further questions regarding this morning's incident, Miss Gleeson?" he asked politely, but a runner turned the television off before they could learn whether the reporter did or didn't.  All eyes in the room turned to the Riddler, and his eyes were still locked on the now-blank screen.

"She's back." he exhaled in a hoarse whisper, his voice thick with emotion.  "Guen's back."

For a long time, nobody said anything, until Magpie decided to break the spell.

"Eddie," she said in a wavering voice, reaching out to touch his arm, "I don't think—"

"Be quiet." he said coldly, and her eyes went wide.  "I've had enough of your bickering Cook, Greene!"

Both flinched back as though struck, tears welling up in Magpie's eyes.

"O'Ryvin!" the Riddler snapped, and the young Irishman stood straight at attention, his face a little pale and worried.

"Yes, sir?" he asked.  The Riddler turned to regard him slowly, blue eyes flashing.

"You want to earn your place here, O'Ryvin?  You're going to catch me a ghost."


	4. Twitch's Encounters

Ulysses Cutter, better known as "Twitch" in the Gotham underworld, was the sort of man you could depend upon.  Not because he had numerous useful skills, nor because he excelled at everything did, but rather because he was the sort of person who would do his best to carry out and accomplish a task given to him.  There were times he didn't succeed, but they were few and far between, and usually the result of something being too far outside the range of his abilities.

The day was dark, gray, and damp, but it made little difference to Twitch, who considered himself to be on a very important errand.  Though he tended to be a gofer in the services of many of the Rogues Gallery, it was well-known that he was primarily the Scarecrow's right-hand man, and he was loyal to a fault.  So loyal, in fact, that he was grocery shopping to stock up the kitchen at the Scarecrow's hideout, even though Jonathan Crane had been taken back to Arkham less than three weeks ago.  Twitch considered it his duty to maintain the upkeep of Crane's hideouts, and it was a job that had become routine to him, something he embraced with a fervent enthusiasm.  After all, sooner or later Doctor Crane was bound to break out, and Twitch wanted to ensure his savior came home to facilities that were shipshape.

He was heading to Duke and Marsha's, a little mom-n-pops grocery store he'd once gone to with Ink, when the sensation of fingers crawling raced up his spine.  Jumping, he darted a quick look over his shoulder to find…nothing.  The ordinary Gothamites continued to pass by, about their own business, and none seemed to notice his paranoid reaction.  Perhaps such a thing was so expected they'd become jaded to it.

"L-losing my m-mind…" Twitch muttered to himself, shaking his head and resuming his walk.  His arms shook slightly, chills in his back and shoulders as he made his way into the store, unable to shake the feeling he was being watched or, worse yet, followed.

"You've just g-got the w-willies, Twitch…" he said under his breath, rubbing his arms as he selected a couple of juices.  "Y-yeah, that's it.  You've w-w-watched too many h-horror m-movies."  Feeling that talking would draw more unwanted attention upon himself, he immediately ceased and resorted to mentally trying to reassure himself he was just being paranoid.  This went on for several minutes, and so consumed him that he lost track of where he was going and ran right into another customer.  The juices in Twitch's arms crashed to the floor, (though thankfully they didn't break,) and several cans of soup clattered and clanged down around them.

"Oh-oh!  Oh m-my g-g-goodness!  I-I-I I'm so s-sorry!  I wa-wasn't watching where I was g-going!" he apologized hastily, bending down to scoop his groceries up, and was surprised when a young man, probably in his early to mid-twenties, crouched down and offered him a knowing smile as he retrieved the soups.

"It's alright," said the other kindly, "That was just as much my fault.  We should probably both get carts, huh?"

He had a lean look to him, accentuated if anything, by the pair of oval glasses perched on the end of his nose and the small, stringy brown ponytail that draped halfway on one of his shoulders.  Dark eyes flashed behind the glasses, and Twitch got the feeling that, despite his kind manner, there was something dangerous about the younger man.

"Y-y-yes…" he agreed, feeling a bit wary.  "P-probably a good idea.  I'm not s-sure what I was thinking."  Then, feeling he needed to diffuse the situation before it got into risky territory, he thrust one of his hands forward.  "Name's Ulysses Cutter, b-but everyone calls me Twitch."

The younger man hesitated only a moment before giving him a shake.

"Gary Myers." he answered.  "Why does everyone call you Twitch?"

"T-t-t-Tourette's Syndrome." he explained, feeling his cheeks go slightly red.

"Ahh!" said Gary, and his expression somehow softened a great deal at that.  "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cutter."

"S-same to you." Twitch agreed, giving him a nod before walking off to the cart corral to avoid having the same incident occur twice.

_That,_ he said to himself, _was a little strange.  I wonder if Miss Ink knows him.  They seem around the same age…_

He let these thoughts entertain him for a while as he walked around and shopped, occasionally spotting Gary at the opposite end of an aisle.  Once or twice the younger man noticed him and offered him another pleasant smile, but Twitch still couldn't shake the feeling that he had to be on his guard, even if it was a silly, paranoid thought.  He tried to distract himself with wondering if he knew any of the other customers, and he did happen to pass a young man in leather and an older blonde woman who seemed familiar, but otherwise he didn't really recognize anyone.  The rest of his shopping was completed with little incident, and before long he was heading out of the store, arms laden with several shopping bags.  He didn't cherish the thought of carting them around on the bus and up to the lab, but he was filled with a self-accomplished pride nonetheless.

The next major bump in his day occurred as he was waiting at the bus stop.

He'd sat on the bench, grateful for the opportunity to set the bags down, and waited, twiddling his thumbs clumsily and humming a tune from Mary Poppins.  Suddenly a shadow fell over him, and a voice that could have belonged to an angry female singer reached his ears.

"Twitch?  Is that you?  Long time no see!"

Jumping, he whirled about, and saw a young woman who looked like a walking Hot Topic ad approaching him with a grin on her face.  He started to respond, then realized which of her personalities was in place.

"M-Miss Wraith?" he asked tentatively, his mind reeling in shock.  She'd disappeared for nearly the last three months, and nobody had known where she'd gotten off to.  Twitch had known she was severing her apprenticeship with Crane, and therefore wouldn't have been at the lab all the time, but her vanishing was a different matter entirely.  He felt both relief and a stab of apprehension at the sight of her; why was she suddenly here again?  What did she want?  And why, above all, was she just striding about in the open as Wraith with no abandon?

"The one and only!" Wraith answered with a cheeky grin.  "You get brownie points by the way.  Most people still can't tell the difference between me and Guen."

"You s-sound different w-when y-y-you talk…" Twitch mumbled.

"What's with all the groceries, huh?  Crane making you run errands from his padded cell?" Wraith quirked an eyebrow at all the bags.

"H-he's not m-making me.  I wanted to do it." Twitch protested gently.

"…How is everyone, Twitch?" Wraith asked quietly, her eyes slipping away from him to look at nothing in particular.  He glanced up at her, tempted to respond at the measure of longing in her face, but he shook his head.

"I-I think you should ask them all.  B-but I've m-m-missed you.  M-Miss Ink has especially missed you." he answered.

"Ink…" Wraith repeated the name, and Twitch realized the hilt of her switchblade scythe was in her hand.  He was half-afraid she intended to use it on him, but she only stroked the wood, her expression sad.

"She's not very happy with you, y-you know." Twitch added.

"I doubt anyone is, Twitch.  I just sort of up and left without saying anything.  Guen and I…we weren't happy about it, but if we'd tried to get a message out, it would only have caused trouble.  That's why I had Guen write that note eventually and send it to everyone." she explained.

"Wh-where have y-you been all this t-time?" he asked, suspicious.

"Well," Wraith started awkwardly, "You see—"

"Priestess of Horus!" a booming voice with a British accent suddenly called.  Twitch looked about in alarm as he heard the girl groan.  A very tall man who resembled Dwaine "The Rock" Johnson dressed in a very odd outfit—probably British couture—with a blue marble design interspersed with gold was running toward them, a ridiculously long ponytail flapping in the wind behind him.  Twitch could only stare in shock, no matter how greatly his first instinct to bolt and run was.

"You cannot simply abandon your pharaoh in his time of need!" the man scolded as he drew close.

"Ph-Pharaoh?" Twitch asked, stunned, turning to look questioningly at Wraith, who gave him a long-suffering look.

"Twitch, meet Ramsey.  Ramsey, this is Twitch." she said in a flat tone, and for the first time, the huge man took notice of him.  But within moments his expression darkened like storm clouds, and Twitch flinched back in alarm before he could stop himself.

"Whoa, Ramram!  Chillax!  Twitch ain't gonna bite!" Wraith said in shock, vainly attempting to push the big man out of her friend's face.

"He may not bite," Ramsey answered in a deadly calm voice, "But he will call down the plagues and the wrath of his God upon us, without a doubt."

"I w-what?!" Twitch spluttered, dumbfounded.

"Do not attempt to play the fool with me, Musa.  Even in this life you are a stutterer!  Even in this day and age, you dress yourself in the rags of the desert, letting your appearance grow wild and savage!  Where is your mighty staff now?  Where is your silver-tongued brother?" Ramsey was on the verge of bellowing, and Twitch tried to shrink back and make himself as small as possible, terrified of the bigger man's temper and the insane light in his dark eyes.

"Musa?" Wraith repeated, puzzled.

"His own people called him Moshe.  In this day and age, as I have read from your sacred texts, you all know him as Moses." Ramsey replied quietly, sparing Wraith a glance.

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa!  Slow down there, big guy!" Wraith said, letting out an exasperated chuckle, "You think _Twitch_ is _Moses_?"

But Ramsey ignored her, continuing to glare at Twitch as though his very appearance, unkempt and pitiable as it was, had done the bigger man some great personal wrong.

"Oh, man, this is too rich!" Wraith shook her head and gave Ramsey's sleeve a sharp tug.  "Come on, ya lummox!  I've got a job to pull!  We're on a time frame!"

Finally Ramsey pulled back, but his glare was unrelenting.

"The moment you say to me, 'Let my people go,' I am going to twist your head from your shoulders with my own two hands." he hissed.

"B-b-but I d-don't even kn-know you!" Twitch cried.

"Come on, Rams.  Leave him alone!" Wraith sighed, shaking her head as they turned and started to leave.

"W-wait!" Twitch cried, a thought striking him at the last moment, "M-Miss Ink is still v-very upset!  She feels like you a-abandoned her!"

Wraith paused in mid-stride, then looked back at him.

"I'm not surprised.  But I didn't abandon her.  I never want to, and I never plan on it," she said softly, still playing with the handle of her scythe, "She's one of my best friends; I'd do anything for Ink.  I'd die for her."

"Th-then," Twitch asked timidly, feeling her answer a bit extreme, even for her, "Will you p-pl-please at least c-call her?  Try to a-a-a-apologize?"

Wraith nodded with a genuine smile.  "Of course," she answered, resuming her walk, waving lazily, "See you around, Twitch."

And with that, she left, Ramsey on her heels.  Twitch watched them go, wondering what in the world they were up to, when he noticed a shadow detach itself from the line of trees they were walking under and start to follow them.  A shadow that looked like something out of his worst drug-induced nightmares.  He forced his face forward, trying to put it out of his mind.  Thankfully, he was saved a few minutes later when the bus arrived, coming to a halt and letting a few passengers off.  Gathering up his groceries, Twitch shuffled onto the bus, his mind full of all the odd things that had happened.  Plopping down into one of the seats, he leaned back and let out a weary sigh, rubbing his temples.

"It is a rough, gloomy day, _da_?"

He looked across the aisle to see a beautiful young brunette woman offering him a sympathetic smile.  Her accent was Russian, if he wasn't mistaken, and she looked like she was college-age.  He offered her a drained smile in response, nodding slowly.

"A very rough, gloomy, day." he agreed as the bus began to move to its next destination.


	5. The Return Of Wraith

Ramsey wasn't entirely sure how in the world he'd been roped into this.  The priestess of Horus was planning on 'pulling a job' at some 'Gotham Skating Charity for the Children's Recreation Center.'  He didn't really quite understand what she meant by that, but he did know that for someone who had so urgently insisted that it needed to be done soon, she was spending an ungodly amount of time locked in the water closet.

"Are you ready _yet_ , priestess?" he sighed.

"Ram, I told you these things take time!" she snapped.

"It would feel like less time were you to enlighten your Pharaoh as to what exactly you're doing in there." he muttered.

"I'm dying my hair." she repeated for the third time.  Ramsey only shook his head.  He still had no idea what that meant.

"She has a couple of  points there."

He turned and looked at the man approaching him.  Half of his face was covered in scarred flesh that had taken on the blue-gray hue of a corpse that had been inefficiently mummified.  His attire, like his hair, was split down the middle black-and-white.  Mismatched eyes surveyed Ramsey from that scarred face, one a soft brown, the other a virulent, angry amber.  The unscarred hand was at ease in a pocket, while the other constantly flipped a coin into the air and caught it unconsciously, as though half of the man was forever restless and needed something to preoccupy that pent-up energy.

_All things taken into consideration_ , Ramsey thought, _perhaps that is true._

"And what might these points be?" he asked aloud.

"First, dying hair does take time." Two-Face answered in his gravelly voice, a small smile turning up the good corner of his mouth, "And second, she has to dye it.  Can't make an impressive rebirth if she doesn't look her best, can she?"

"Hmph.  I suppose you have a point there," Ramsey murmured, then hastily added, "Two points, I mean."

Two-Face grunted, giving him a small nod, and Ramsey let out a quiet sigh of relief he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.  The man didn't necessarily frighten him—to think, a Pharaoh intimidated by a mere mortal priest of Khepri!—but he was quickly learning that the priestess's "Papa Bear" had an unpredictable temper, and it was usually best to ward off any violent outbursts by ensuring everything, whether physical, verbal or otherwise, was doubled in some form or fashion.

All in all, he'd somehow wound up in one of the most odd alliances ever.

A few moments passed in which all was quiet, save for the constant sound of the coin being flipped and caught, and finally a triumphant cheer erupted from the water closet.  Ramsey jumped, but Two-Face merely caught his coin and looked calmly at the door.

"Ladies and gentlerogues," the priestess's voice floated from behind the door, sounding pleased and a little smug, "May I introduce you.  To your new.  Improved…"  
The door swung open as she stepped out, half of her hair now a brilliant silver.

"Wraith." she grinned brilliantly, twirling her scythe, the silver-and-black blade making a dizzying arc in the air, like a glow with its own shadow.

"So that was what you meant when you said you were dying your hair." Ramsey remarked.  "You were changing its color!  Remarkable!  I haven't seen many priestesses capable of that level of sorcery!"

For some reason, she shot him a rather withering look before turning to Two-Face.  "Well, Papa Bear," she asked excitedly, "What do you think?!  Am I totally rockin' the black-and-silver look?  Two thumbs up??"

"Much better." he nodded, "Two thumbs up."

Her grin grew wider and the dark blue wings on her back fluttered in excitement.

"Perfect!  I hope everyone at that stupid party is wearing their skates when I get there.  They're gonna need them." she said in an ominous voice, and for a brief moment, Ramsey could have sworn he felt gooseflesh raise on his arms.

Then again, his imagination was probably just being overactive.

*****

Getting out of Arkham was becoming increasingly difficult for Jonathan Crane.  The Joker never seemed to have a problem with it, as his escapes were always spontaneous and never followed a pattern, but for someone as precise as The Scarecrow, trying to plan things out that worked were starting to turn into a regular challenge.

It did, however, prove to be a useful distraction during recreation time when Harleen and Pamela got to bickering over which television channel to watch.

"I was watching Tom and Jerry, Red!  Give it back!" Harley griped, making a lunge for the remote.

"Those episodes play for three hours a day, Harley!" Poison Ivy snapped back, just managing to keep the remote out of reach.  "And World's Greenest Homes ONLY plays on this channel at this time on Thursdays!  So it's MY turn!"

"Calm down, ladies, or I'll have to come over there and separate you two!" grumbled one of the orderlies, rubbing his temples wearily.

"Please!" Jonathan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "Do!"

Harley and Pamela shot them both glares, but quieted down for a moment, seeming to have a quick, silent debate between their eyes.  Finally Poison Ivy spoke up again.

"I think Ink should be allowed to pick what we watch." she said pleasantly.

"Me?" Ink looked up from the sketch she was making at Jonathan's side, surprised.  Jonathan hesitated, feeling a little wary about the redheaded woman's offer.  Still though, Ink had been more than a little irritated after losing contact with the ink-creature she'd sent to follow Wraith and perhaps being allowed to choose a television channel would help perk her up again.

"Yeah, you're being a good girl, sweetie." Harley said kindly.  She gently took the remote from Pamela and held it out.  "You deserve a shot."

"Aww, thank you!" Ink said, her face brightening like the sun, and she jumped up from the chair, scrambling over and taking a seat on the couch as Harley gave her the remote.  Jonathan felt a slight stab at annoyance that she'd left, but suppressed it, choosing to focus instead on his planning.

*****

Erin was just setting her tea down on the coffee table— _really now, it should be called a tea-and-coffee table, what in the world was that Carpenter thinking?_ —when she flipped the channel to the news.  Still Summer Gleeson, giving a report on something-or-other.  Erin wasn't sure why she kept switching to the news, hoping for something she couldn't even identify, but it was happening out of impulse and her heart seemed to sink a bit every time, as though some buoy of hope in her chest was slowly deflating.  Almost unconsciously, she found the note back in her hand and she looked down at it, fighting back the tears.

_Patience.  Soon._

She took a deep shuddering breath.

_Patience.  Soon._

"What do you mean by that, Guen…?" she whispered.  "Why haven't you come back yet?  Why didn't you even tell us you were going in the first place…?"

"Erin, dearest," came a gentle voice she knew and loved so well, "Whatever is the matter?"

She looked up to see Jervis observing her, concern on his face, his hands unconsciously wringing the brim of his top hat in worry.  Her heart began to sink; Jervis had taken such pains to care for her during her depression, and she'd barely responded to him until his proposal.  She knew the whole ordeal upset him, but she couldn't bring herself to NOT worry over Guen.  After all, the winged girl was her friend…

"Miss Pendragon again?" Jervis sighed in exasperation, hanging his head.

"I'm so sorry, Jervis…" Erin murmured, not meeting his eyes, choosing instead to watch her shaking hands, "It's just that…I'm worried about her, you know.  And I mean…I'm glad she sent us all this note…but I wish I knew more.  I wish I knew why she'd left…and why she's just now sent us word.  And I don't even know what the message means."

The couch sunk a little as Jervis sat next to her, folding her in a gentle embrace.

"Everything will right, my queen.  Worry and tarry not on the topic of Miss Pendragon for a while." he said sweetly, planting a kiss on her forehead.

*****

Aidan O'Ryvin was staked out at the Gotham Skate Park, anxiously awaiting his moment to strike and steal the slowly amassing donation pool from under the noses of the security guards.  It was tempting to go ahead and just throw himself into the fray, but the giant ornamental cauldron was only halfway full, and it would be pointless to only get away with a one-cheek job.  A tiny voice in the back of his mind told him he didn't need to bother with this, that The Riddler had already accepted him as an 'employee', that he'd already been given a job.

Aidan shut the voice up by insisting it would never hurt to do a little kissing-up with a huge haul of cash.  Not to mention it would definitely get Miss Magpie's attention.

He watched and waited from his perch in the tree as the time dragged slowly on, each second seeming an eternity.  More people slowly came and added to the cauldron of cash as they strapped on their various skates, roller-blades, heelies and wheelies, or took a few practice runs on their skateboards.  The age range was from kids who were probably in kindergarten to younger grandparents still able to skate without injuring themselves too badly.  A few more figures showed up from Gotham's wealthy, and soon he could see Mayor Hamilton Hill talking with a few of his subordinates, about ready to get to his podium and make his speech.

"Hurry up, already…" he grumbled, shifting his position.

"Patience is a virtue, you know." a deep, eerie voice whispered in his ear.  Aidan froze, caught between his instinct to turn and attack or to run.  Either way, any sudden moves would draw attention to his hiding spot and he would be discovered.

"Aye, I know…" he murmured back.  A sinister chuckle sounded in his ear, then the entire top of the tree shifted ever so slightly.  Aidan turned and watched as a dark shape flitted away over the tops of the other trees, coming to rest some distance away from him, a shape that barely looked human.  For half a second, he was torn between paying attention to the development below as the mayor began to give his speech, and chasing the strange figure down.  After all, he'd been charged with finding Wraith, and this mysterious, albeit creepy, figure might know something about her.

In the end however, greed won out, and he watched as the mayor droned on about the charity, the donators, the sponsors, the whole nine yards.

"God, of all the boring jobs I could've picked…" he muttered.

It was then that firecrackers went off overhead, and everyone began to scream as a figure dropped down from the height of the charity's banner—"Skate To Improve The Recreation Center For Gotham's Young!!!"—and landed on the podium.

"Lenore and Annabelle Lee!" Aidan gasped, his jaw dropping.

Two midnight blue wings rose out of her back, slowly folding as she straightened and stood.  A black halter top hoodie and mini-skort were separated by a silver sash, and her boots and collar were black with silver trim.  Her wristbands were black and silver too, one color on each wrist, and even her hair was half silver, like a metallic Cruella de Vil.  She stood to her full height and addressed the crowd with a crooked, deranged grin.

"HELLO, GOTHAM CITY!" she roared, and within moments a scythe appeared in her hands, which she twirled like a drill team baton.  "It's your favorite local ghost, come back from the dead!  Did you miss me?"

He saw some of the security guards started to recover, eyes wide, torn between protecting the mayor and trying to signal the police.  From behind the platform came another figure, striding regally up to meet the girl, who hopped down from the podium, still smiling.

"I gotta say, I wasn't expecting a 'Welcome Home, Wraith!' party, but I'm touched!  And I'll happily accept your generous contributions to my working-toward-becoming-freelance fund!  After all, I'm not an ingrate, am I, Ram?" she said cheerfully, turning to address the man, and Aidan did a double take.

The guy was tall, really tall, with tan skin and long black hair pulled back in a ponytail that fell to his waist.  He was bandaged neck to foot in gauze and wore an odd black kilt that was slit up the sides.  Sandals adorned his feet, a white _nemes_ headdress covered his head, black _kohl_ lined his eyes, and an ankh-shaped leather holster acted as belt and ornament, carrying an odd assortment of items.

But it was the man's jewelry that really caught Aidan's attention.

A strange, beautiful gold necklace fell over his shoulders like a mantle, and two huge golden gauntlets with large garnet stones covered his forearms.

"Oh, sweet Sister Mary…" Aidan breathed, "Iffen I could get ahold o' those for Miss Magpie…"  The Raven was, after all, a thief, and nothing struck his fancy better than some nice jewels.

But the man in gauze moved, breaking the spell, covering the donation cauldron with a large tarp.

"Indeed, Priestess." he murmured in an undeniable British accent.

"FREEZE!" someone yelled, and Aidan saw cops swarming the stand, pulling out their pistols and aiming at the girl.  It was then that her words registered with him and he realized who she was.

This was Wraith!  This was the girl Riddler wanted him to catch!

"And she's stealing MY steal!" he squawked indignantly, preparing to swoop down and put a stop to it.  But before he finished speaking, the cops began to fire.  The man in gauze, however, flicked his wrists here and there, deflecting all bullets shot at him with an uncanny ease.  Those bullets aimed at Wraith, on the other hand, seemed to pass right through her.

"What the hell?!"

"I told you not to shoot, you idiots!"

"Oh, Jesus!"

"Not quite." The Raven heard Wraith chuckle, and she brought her wristbands together with a sudden ringing crash.  Suddenly she seemed a little more solid than she had a couple of seconds before, and without warning, she leapt from the stand, scythe flashing through the air.

"We must go, Priestess!" the big man shouted.  And to The Raven's complete astonishment, he picked up the cauldron with both hands, as though it weighed little more than a large, cardboard box.

"CATCH THE MUMMY!" a policeman roared, and the man's gaze snapped onto him so fast Aidan was surprised he didn't hear his neck crack.

"How DARE you make orders to capture me so informally!" he bellowed, "I am Pharaoh Ramses the Great!  I united the world!  I turned Egypt into the power it still is today!  I rebuilt the glory and splendor of my mighty nation!  I, RAMSES!  How dare you defy me, you insolent peasant!"

Wraith, who seconds ago seemed perfectly, insanely cheerful and ready to kill someone, frowned and stomped back up to the stand, seized The Mummy by an ear and yanked hard on it.

"Rams!  Focus, dude!  You're making me look bad!  Come on, let's move!"

And with that, she began to run through the sea of people, scythe flashing in one hand as she dragged The Mummy along with her other.  What astonished Aidan more than anything was how in the world the big man was keeping a hold on the cauldron, not spilling anything, and yet still allowing himself to be led like a bull grabbed by the nose ring.

"INSOLENT PEASANT!  WALLOWER OF FILTH!  PUTRESCENT RODENT!" The Mummy was roaring.  "I'LL HAVE YOU WHIPPED!  YOU WILL BE BEATEN UNTIL YOU LEARN THE PROPER REVERENCE FOR MY PERSON!"

"SHUT UP!" Wraith shouted at him, and within moments The Raven realized where they were heading, as an oversized black van sped over the pavement of the nearby street, the back being thrown open by a couple of lackeys in the back.

"Come on, get in get in get in!"  one of them shouted, and within moments, the doors shut again, this time with Wraith, The Mummy, and the entire donation pool from the Skating Charity behind them.

"What the hell am I doing?!" Aidan yelped, taking off after the black van.  That was _his_ steal, and to make things more embarrassing, his _target_ getting away with it!

**

In the recreation room at Arkham Asylum, everything had gone quiet as all eyes were glued to the television screen.  Some reporter covering the Skating Charity had been bold enough to grab a camera to start filming, and the inmates watched as Wraith, now sporting a new hairdo, made off with a giant ornamental cauldron full of money, with Ramsey Kingston in tow, no less.

"Guennie's on the news…" Ink stated bluntly.  Nobody could quite tell what she was thinking, whether she was happy, still angry, or just plain dumbfounded.  The silence stretched on for a while, until finally Jonathan Crane spoke up.

"Well, at least she's finally learned how to make a proper entrance." he grumbled.  "I suppose she has _that_ in her favor."

**

Across the city, holed up in the Scarecrow's laboratory, Twitch too, was watching the news, and he merely smacked his hand over his face, wincing.

"Oh, Miss Pendragon!" he groaned.

How utterly embarrassing!  Dr. Crane was surely having a conniption…

**

But it was nothing compared to what was occurring at the Riddler's hideout.

Magpie clenched the remote in her hand, and it was only when an ominous cracking sound came from the plastic that Rook looked up from cleaning the chamber in one of his guns.

"What the hell's your problem?" he scoffed, then briefly looked up to the television.  "Ooh, Wraith's looking nice and healthy, huh?"

Magpie muttered something under her breath before practically exploding from her chair and storming out of the room, her expression thunderous.  Rook watched her progress for a moment, puzzled, until the pieces began to fall into place inside his head, and a dread worry for Guen started to form in his stomach.

**

Banshee had found herself yet again at the Iceberg Lounge, and it was the flash of silver and black on the television above the bar that began her descent back into sobriety.

"What the hell?" she muttered, blinking until her vision cleared a bit.  "May, turn that up!"

Trick Deck turned to shift the volume dial on the TV, then froze as she looked at the screen, the glass she'd been cleaning slipping a little in her grip.

"She's back." she murmured, eyebrows meeting her hairline.

**

Strolling down a sidewalk near The Narrows, Stitches stopped in mid-skip, turned, and looked in the window of an electronics store.  A familiar face flashed across the TV screen, and she tilted her head to the side, blinking.

"Guen-Guen got her hair done?" she asked aloud, a little puzzled.  Of all the cranked out colors you could go for, why silver?  And what was up with the guy in the toilet paper who was following her around?

Stitches became vaguely aware that someone else was watching the TVs with her, and she turned a little to glance at the rest of Wraith's audience.

It was a woman, slightly older than herself, dressed in a suit with coattails and white gloves, wearing rabbit ears and whiskers.

"Oh my.  Late as usual." the woman muttered.  "The Hatter will want to know about this, that's for sure!"

And with that, the woman took off, muttering, "Clean cup, move down!  Clean cup, move down!"

Stitches shook her head before returning to the news.  At least now she knew she wasn't the only totally batshit crazy freak in Gotham.

**

Erin broke away from the kiss, and pointed at the television screen.

"Jervis!" she cried, tears of joy shining in her eyes.  "Oh Jervis, look!"

He looked up, staring at the television screen, and was met with a too-familiar face framed now by black-and-silver hair.

"Pendragon." he muttered.

"Guen's back." Erin spoke in a voice just below a whisper, tears starting to roll down the sides of her cheeks.  "Jervis, she's back.  She's back!"

"So it would seem." he agreed through clenched teeth.  A tiny part of him was thrilled at the prospect, as it meant everything could go back to normal and Erin would be alright again.  But that tiny part was drowned out by the flood of icy hatred that threatened to overtake Jervis Tetch, and he barely felt it.  He barely even registered his own arms returning Erin's hug, didn't respond as she wept happily against him.

_And just now your return was so ill timed, Miss Pendragon_ , he said to himself, _That you completely ruined the mood._

That was going on the list of her crimes he would see her atone for.


	6. The Rule Of Two's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one chucklefuck character dies in this chapter btw. You have been warned.

The change happened before their arrival back at the duplex.  One moment Guen was riding along, merely a passenger in her own body, observing Wraith's actions as though through some sort of fog, and the next, she suddenly had the reins, popping back into place with a jump.  The big man who'd taken to following her, Ramsey Kingston, looked up in mild alarm.

"Is something wrong, Priestess?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing, Rams." she answered.  "I'm fine."

He continued to watch for a while, obviously not totally convinced, but he made no further comment.  When he finally looked away, she glanced over, noticed the ornamental cauldron, and had to refrain from sucking in a breath.  Of course Wraith would look to make a very large and rather public steal.  Her other personality rarely did anything by halves, especially these days.  Shaking her head, she looked away…and froze.

"Um, boys?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss?" asked the more polite of the two goons.

"Did anyone happen to look outside to check if we're being followed?"

"Hey, I'm driving like a Paris Grand Prix pro, here, chickpea," snapped the one with less manners, "No way anyone can keep up with our trail."

"Okay," she said testily, "So who's freak in the bird costume flying about five feet behind us?"

At this, both henchmen glanced at the mirrors and swore loudly, and the van moved into a sharp swerve to the left, jostling both Guen and Ramsey in their seats, the plastic cauldron of money bouncing and sliding dangerously.  They lost sight of the figure behind them, but a sickening feeling in Guen's stomach told them they hadn't seen the last of him.

*****

Trick Deck was wiping the inside of a glass very slowly and deliberately when Erin burst through the doors of the Lounge, red curls flying behind her, her face lit up with joy.

"May!  Oh May, isn't it frabjuous?!  Guen's back!" she cried, and Trick Deck smiled despite herself.

"It is," she answered, having to withhold a snicker at the sight of Jervis's thunderous countenance as he brought up the rear.

"Speak for yourself," the Hatter muttered, though his fiancée didn't seem to hear.  She was too busy throwing her arms around her friend and crying happy tears.

"Whoa, honey, calm down!" May said, wriggling a bit in Erin's grasp.  "I know you're happy and all, but you have to take it easy!"

"Oh, I know, but," Erin sighed, "I can't help it!  Oh, I'm just so happy!   _Now_ I know what her note meant!  Oh, and I imagine the other girls are excited too!  I bet Banshee is preparing something, and no doubt Ink is furious but I imagine she's just as happy!  And I'll bet Magpie is helping Banshee prepare whatever surprise she has!"

At this, the strawberry-blonde woman clamped her teeth shut.  She very much doubted, given her friend's behavior lately, that Magpie was rejoicing at all, especially if Edward Nygma had discovered Guen's return.  She couldn't, however, bring herself to voice this worry to Erin; the redhead had been one of the worst effected by Guen's disappearance, worrying herself into a deep depression at the winged girl's fate, and the mention that one of their friends may suddenly have something against Guenhivyre would only serve to start Erin on her downward spiral again.  No, best leave conversations like that to someone else, someone better suited to hear her concerns, and so she let Erin carry on.  For the most part, it was half-hysterical excited babble, and Erin didn't even notice when Wendy Moore, the March Hare and Jervis's assistant, arrived to report to her superior.  May occasionally interjected small commentary, but for the most part, merely nodded or said "yes" or "no" where needed, indulging Erin's need for a largely one-sided conversation.

Finally, at one point, Jervis gently placed his hands on Erin's shoulders.

"Erin darling," he said carefully, "I realize you're having a grand time, conversing with Miss Markowitz, but we have some errands to run."

She spun about at once, face still lit up with joy, and smiled fondly at her fiancé.

"Of course, Jervis dear," she replied.  "Oh, it's a frabjuous day!"

"Caloo, callay." murmured Wendy out of reflex.

"Oh, and March is going to be coming with us?  We _must_ go back to have tea after errands!"

May watched as they left, several concerns battling for top priority in her head.  Guen certainly knew how to stir up trouble, that was for sure.  Most people worried about her, some didn't care, and some wanted her dead.  And if her sources were correct, Guen's little stunt at Arkham to break out Two-Face even got Dr. Avery replaced as the chief of psychiatry.

"Certainly don't do anything by halves, do you, hon?" she muttered, staring at the next glass as she wiped it down.  "No, that's simply not…"

Her eyes widened, and the glass slipped from her fingers.  It was only out of quick reflex that she managed to catch it before it could shatter on the bar's floor.

"Halves…"

Guen had broken Harvey Dent out of Arkham.  Dent, who had in common with her friend a split personality issue.  Two days prior to this escape, Dent had just been admitted back to the asylum for reasons unknown.  Two weeks prior to his admittance, they'd all received a note from Guen, a note with only two words on it.  Two months prior to _that_ , Guen had simply vanished into thin air.

All those two's!

There was no way it was just a freaky coincidence.

"Markowitz!" hissed a voice near her ear, and she jumped violently, nearly dropping the glass again.

"Rook!" she snapped, turning to glare at him fiercely.  "I ought to have you thrown out, you unwashed, un-Kosher—"

"We need to talk," he said in a low, hushed voice.

"Yeah?  About you taking your callous, ill-mannered behind out of the Lounge."

He shook his head slowly, looking unusually grave.

"No," he answered, "About Cook and Nygma…and Guen."

At this she calmed down and nodded grimly.

"Give me a minute to find Rav," she answered, "And wait in the break room."'

*****

Aidan O'Ryvin, better known by his alias of "The Raven", followed the van just by the skin of his teeth.  Several times they'd nearly shaken him, but one of the many advantages of having the mystic powers passed down by his ancestors was being able to track his quarry regardless of circumstances.  She was good, this Wraith, but she'd have to do better than that.

"The boss is depending on me," he remarked to himself, "And I'm depending on that haul.  Miss Magpie won't notice me otherwise."

They arrived outside a building in disrepair, or at least, partially in disrepair.  The van parked in the back of it and out of sight.  Aidan landed on a rooftop across the street, waited, counting out five minutes, then flew to the back of the building, spotting the van almost instantly.  He landed with a quiet thump on the top of it, and when nothing immediately happened, figured that he was in the clear.  There was a back door, standing slightly ajar, and he slipped inside it, prowling through the hallway beyond.  The place was shabby in some areas, and yet, immaculate in others.  It made no sense to him, but he figured that obviously rogues poorer than he couldn't always afford the upkeep on their hideouts.  Yes, that would make the most sense.

A few quick, silent jogs brought him within earshot of Wraith talking in a low grumble to her companions.  A glance around a corner brought them within his sights, trudging toward what appeared to be an atrium of sorts, the two goons flanking Wraith on either side and The Mummy bringing up the rear, still carting around the plastic cauldron.  Drawing on some more of his ancestral powers, Aidan kept up with them, silencing his footsteps and feeling confident they wouldn't catch onto his presence there.  They entered the atrium and Wraith struck a pose.

"OH, PAPA BEAR, I'M HOOOOOOOOME!" she called in an obnoxious sing-song.  Aidan dug his fingers in his ears.  Of all the female rogues he knew of, only Miss Magpie wasn't obnoxious and acted out of her rank.

"Looks like you did twice as good as half of Arkham, kid." said a proud, gravelly voice.  "What you estimate you got there?"

"200,000." she answered smugly.

It was then that Aidan got a clear look at the man she was talking to, and a shiver ran down his spine.  He started to back up, intent on getting away but at that instant the man's mismatched eyes locked onto him, and the blood ran cold in his veins.  Wraith spun a second later.

"Ramsey," the two of them spoke in tandem, and before Aidan could use his power to make himself invisible, something crushed him from behind, huge arms locking around him in an iron grip.  Struggling, he attempted to beat his way free, but The Mummy had him held fast and marched him into the atrium, setting him before Two-Face.  Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Aidan went stock-still on the spot, praying to Tir na N'og the dangerous rogue would see fit to release him if he just managed to sweet-talk his way through this one.

"Looks like you got a stowaway." Two-Face said in a growl, his eyes dancing with a light that the young Irish thief couldn't identify.  Wraith gave a hiss and clenched her fists at her sides.

"Stupid of me!" she snapped.  "I'm sorry, Papa Bear."

"Rookie mistake," he waved it off, "Just don't do it a second time.  So," he looked Aidan directly in the eye, "You got a name, you two-bit thief?"

"Two-bit thief?!" Aidan snapped indignantly, "I'm The Raven, best thief in all o' Ireland!"

"The Raven?" Wraith snorted, and in the blink of an eye, she hoisted him off his feet by his collar.  He could only blink in shock.  How the hell was this puny girl so strong?!

"Listen up, freckles," she continued coldly, "I'll make an exception for Magpie, since she's my friend, and Pengers, because he's cool and all, but understand _this_ : I am the _only_ Rogue in all of Gotham with _any_ right to lay claim to bird-related crap at all!"

And then, from behind her, two wings, fledged with midnight-blue feathers, unfurled, six feet in their span.  Aidan sucked in a breath as she stared him down, and then lost it a second later as she flung him unceremoniously to the ground.

"Better watch it there, Wraith," Two-Face said conversationally, "You might break a couple nails, getting that angry."

"What should we do with him, Papa Bear?" she asked, that same strange light entering her eyes as she fixed an eagle eye on Aidan, who froze as he got to his feet.  He turned to Two-Face, who proceeded to draw something from his pocket.  The older man held it out at arms' length, showing the coin to him.

"Heads, you win," he said, slowly turning it over in his hand, "Tails…you lose.  Sound fair?"

He shook his head vigorously, and both Wraith and Two-Face raised their eyebrows.

"If ye'd just let me explain—" Aidan started.

"You don't get to.  You followed me without an invitation, dumbass," Wraith hissed, "So now you get to play by Papa Bear's rules."

As though this was a cue, the coin suddenly flipped up, shooting into the air.  Aidan watched with bated breath, each second seeming an eternity as he watched the coin flip over, over, over, and over again in the air.  It began to arch back down.

"Wraith." Two-Face spoke, and she snatched the coin out of the air, slapping it down onto the back of her hand.  There was a second's pause, then she removed her top hand, the both of them leaning in to see the results.

Then Wraith looked up with an evil smile on her face, and Two-Face drew something out of his other pocket.

"Sorry, mama's boy," he said dully, "But you lose."

Aidan had no time to think, to react, to protect himself.  He only had enough time to register the gun was a .22 automatic before the bullet left the shaft and buried itself deep in his forehead.

Wraith winced.  "That's gonna leave a stain."


	7. Unexpected Minor Complications

Magpie slowly paced around the room, always keeping one eye on the window.  Her nerves were on edge enough, and there was little she could do to distract herself.

Well, there was always the fact that Guenhivyre had returned.

She bit her lip.

Each time the thought returned unbidden to her, she was flooded with mixed emotions that threatened to send her into sensory overload.  On one hand, Guen was her friend.  The girl was kind enough for an unfortunate soul in the Rogues Gallery, and her split personality had a wicked sense of humor.  The two of them had faced down her creepy stalker together, they'd had a silly, almost normal sleepover.  So many fun, wonderful memories of laughter and a nostalgic sense of normality came to her in bittersweet reminiscent ways whenever she thought of Guenhivyre Pendragon.

On the other hand, Eddie had practically cried tears of relief at the news the winged girl was back.

Her fists clenched at her sides unconsciously, and her head hung a bit lower.

How many years had it been now, since she had begun working for the Riddler?  She'd lost count, (though she doubted it was as many as she would have liked to think,) but it still felt like an eternity.  So many times, she'd come close to telling him the truth, to revealing her feelings to him.  He made her happy, happy in a way she hadn't been since…since…

She shook her head, pushing away even older, less pleasant memories.

She should have seen this coming; she knew that the possibility of another woman snatching up Eddie was all too high, especially if she didn't work up the nerve to tell him.  But to have that woman be one of her own friends!  Someone she knew and trusted!

At one point, she had spoken with Erin about the matter, not that that had done much to help.  Erin had known—she had _known_ —about Edward's feelings toward Guen, but limply pleaded with Magpie to let it go, because no one knew what Guen's feelings towards Eddie were, other than friendship, or if she was even aware that he liked her in a romantic light.  But it didn't matter; Magpie had been hurt enough already.  The second she could get her hands on Guen, the two of them were going to have a private discussion.

She sighed, trying to push the borderline murderous thoughts from her mind as she glanced out the window again.  Rook had left earlier, with just a quick mumbled explanation to Edward, then ducked out.  He refused to mention his intentions to anyone else, which had Magpie on guard.  Vanessa Cook did _not_ trust Rook Greene for the life of her, and a gut suspicion told her he was up to something.  Something sneaky and underhanded.  She had learned about how close the gunman had gotten to Lancelot Pendragon two months ago, and she was willing to bet what little money she had in her pockets that Rook was secretly communicating with Lance.  Was that necessarily a bad thing?  Perhaps not, but the werewolf businessman had backstabbed Edward once already, and Magpie was not inclined to trust him.  And if Rook was in contact with him, then that meant Rook was equally untrustworthy.

"You know, they say if you scowl often enough then your face gets stuck like that," came a snide remark from somewhere behind her, "Quite a pity, you know." 

The lead pipe was in her hands before she finished whirling around and she swung it wildly, only to have it come down on thin air.  He had moved before she did, and he surveyed her idly, his arms hanging lazily at his sides as the corners of his mask pushed upward with a  smile.

"You look _so_ much cuter with that mischievous grin."

"Ragdoll." she said simply, the corner of her mouth twitching upward as she relaxed her grip on the pipe.  The contortionist flipped onto the table in the center of the room, and, balancing on his thin chest, he crossed his arms before him to support his chin.  Anyone else would have just lied down, legs sprawled out behind them, but Ragdoll bent at the waist and the knees, crossing his skinny legs like a giant X and resting each foot of the other side of his head.  He tilted his head slightly and affected a pout.

"Why so glum, honeycake?"

"Bollocks."

"Oooh, language!" he pretended to scold in a singsong voice, waggling a finger.  "Naughty, naughty, _nau-ghty_."

"No, not you," she sighed, "It's…complicated."

"Oh, come on now, Thieves' Code: What's yours is mine, and what's mine is also mine.  Come on, tell Raggie."  He said, tilting his head again and grinning in what he clearly hoped was a winning manner.  "I can keep a seeeecret."

For a moment, she hesitated.  She shouldn't tell anyone, really.

But then again, word would end up getting out regardless.  That was just the way of things with the Rogues Gallery.  And Ragdoll _was_ cute when he acted like that.

She took a deep breath…

*****

"PAPA BEEEAAAARRRRRRRR!"

Two-Face winced, rubbing the bad face of his coin to relax a little.  He hadn't been expecting Wraith to find out so quick, but the kid kept showing an uncanny knack for figuring out everything.  Hindsight was 20-20, as they always said, and the more he thought on it, the more he decided that he had seriously underestimated Wraith on more than one level.  Within moments, she was charging down the stairs, her face set in grim determination, her wings puffing in annoyance, with a fretting Mummy on her heels, and a length of flimsy-looking fabric clutched in one hand.  As she came closer, Two-Face realized she was holding an ornamental, rose-pink scarf.

"What…is…this?" she asked.  "I found it just outside your room."

"One damn expensive scarf, if I had to guess." he answered, flipping his coin casually, only to be met with an accusing glare.

"I thought you said I was your only Baby Bird, Papa Bear." she said in steely tones.

"And you are." he answered calmly.  "Can't think of anyone more worthy of being my daughter."

"So then what the hell is this?" she demanded, waving the scarf angrily.

"What are you doing with my Hermés?!" came a sudden shriek.  Without warning, a woman came running over to them, clad in a voluminous bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head, and she glared murder at Wraith as she snatched at the scarf.  "Do you have any idea how much that cost?!"

The winged girl gave her a flat look and tossed the scarf over her shoulder to Ramsey, who caught it blinking in surprise.

"No." she replied indifferently, crossing her arms.  "Who's the bimbo, Papa Bear?"

" _Bimbo_?" the woman said quietly, color rising in her thin cheeks.  "…You didn't tell me you had a…a kid."

"She's half-adopted.  Sort of."  Two-Face replied.  "Cassandra Derricks, this is Wraith.  Currently.  You'll know when she switches back to Guen.  Wraith, this is Cassandra.  She and I had a meeting while you were away.  She's going to be staying with us for a while."

She looked at him with a glare fit to kill.  "How long is 'a while?'"

Two-Face shrugged.  "Until Black Mask forgets that she pissed him off."

There was a brief pause as shock registered on the young rogue's face, followed by an oversized smirk, and within seconds Wraith was on the ground, rolling around and howling with laughter.

"You pissed off _Black Mask_?!  Oh my gawd, you _idiot_!  Oh gawd, Ramsey, get me some tissues!  This is too funny!!! HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!"

"Is she _always_ this charming?" Cassandra muttered.

"Trust me," Two-Face chuckled, "You should see her on one of her bad days."

*****

"Sir, I really do believe this is a highly unwise idea…"

"As you have mentioned at least two times prior to this one.  Trust me when I say that your opinion is noted, Mr. Montaine."

Gerard grimaced, watching the people walking on the sidewalk and staring at the blackened windows of the limosine.  His hands tightened on the steering wheel, even though the car was turned off, and he squirmed nervously.  It wasn't as though they couldn't avoid the task; Dorian had _ordered_ Lancelot to the site of the burgled charity fundraiser, and the werewolf couldn't very well refuse.  He had to search for clues as to his younger half-sister's whereabouts, and there was really no better place to do so.

But they had arrived only minutes before to find that there were still police swarming the area, and then Lance had schemed up an absolutely ridiculous plan in order to get over there and track down the evidence they needed.  It wasn't failsafe, it wasn't foolproof, and it grated on Gerard's every nerve.  Especially the frayed sense of protectiveness he felt toward his young employer after finding that ominous letter.  However, he was a loyal man, and he would serve regardless of whatever issue he took with the matter.

"Are you ready?"

He sighed.  "As ready as I suppose I shall ever be, Mr. Pendragon."

"Open my window."

Reluctantly, he lowered the rear driver's side window.  There was a pause, a lumbering shake in the backseat, and a massive blur flew out the opening.  Gerard was stumbling out his door a second later, not needing to fake the panic.

"Get back here!  Duke, get back here!  SOMEONE CATCH THAT DOG!" he screamed, as Lance, in full, fluffy wolf form, charged like a bullet toward the roped off park.  People scattered in surprise, not wanting to get anywhere near a "dog" the size of a small bear, and even some of the police officers didn't look up in time before Lance shot past them, running until he came to the podium where the firecrackers had gone off and started sniffing.

"STOP THAT DOG!" Gerard yelled again, pointing wildly, and the other officers immediately caught on as he slowed down, going after Lance for him.  He huffed a sigh he hoped would be mistaken for panting; that should be enough to buy the young businessman just enough time to catch the scent he needed.

"What's all the commotion about over here?" demanded a voice behind him.  The back of his neck prickled in annoyance.  This was what he disliked about dealing with police officers; they were brash, rude, reckless, loud, and walked all over everyone as though their badges were a divine sign of superiority.  Still, he steeled himself, put on his best face and turned around.

"I'm sorry, Officer…" he initially meant to pause so as to be granted a name, but he ended up choking in mild surprise instead as he slowly lifted his hands.  The policeman who had come up to him was a young man—at least, he was sure it was a man—with shoulder-length blonde hair, full pouting lips, big blue eyes, and enough make-up to last until the end of the year.

_Good lord_ , he thought, _I've been accosted by an initiate member of the Gendertrap Miniskirt Brigade_.

"Rossin," the policeman answered in a feminine voice, "Officer Andrew Rossin."  He tilted his head and gave Gerard an odd look.  "Is there something I can help you with, Mister…?"

"Gerard Montaine." he answered briskly, clearing his throat to cover up his uncouth reaction, "And yes, actually.  You can help me retrieve my employer's dog."

The officer's face paled under the make-up as he swallowed loudly, his eyes going wide in fear.  "Did you say…d-dog?"

*****

The elevator flight to the roof wasn't so bad.  But it seemed to take longer with each time, and more and more it seemed the seconds would just drag on, like a lazy, overweight sloth.

"The music." Logann Zeus said to himself out loud.  "I'm going to petition to have the music changed in this stupid elevator."

Finally, the elevator came to a shuddering halt as it reached the roof, and the bell went off with a little _ding_ as the doors slid open.  He stepped out, hefting the several bags of groceries on his arms, and three more that he carried on his lizard tail, now that there was no one around to see him.

At one point in time, the roof of the Zeus building had housed an impressive replica of a Greek temple, the supposed throne room of the Pantheon itself.  But since Maximillian Zeus had been admitted to Arkham Asylum, Logann saw fit to restore and rebuild the temple to his own liking.  To anyone looking upon it normally, it still looked as it had before, thanks to the cloaking technology that Batman had helped Incubus set up in the gargoyles surrounding the roof.  But it was just a holographic illusion set in place to keep the inquisitive at bay.  When Logan entered between the two vast Corinthian columns, the illusion fell away before his eyes, revealing a humble, one-story house.  He approached the door and knocked on it as lightly as he could, and a few seconds later, it swung open and he came inside.

"I come bearing gifts!" he said brightly.

"You went grocery shopping again?"

"Logann, you shouldn't have."

The last speaker was a man several years his senior, with red hair that had a touch of gray at the temples.  Kirk Langstrom's brown eyes stared at him sadly as he relieved the young man of some of his burden, carrying the groceries to the kitchen.

"Now, Kirk, don't belittle his kindness!" said his wife, Francine Langstrom, as she pulled the bags off the end of Logann's tail.  The young man bit his lip, reminding himself of the situation at hand.

Two months ago, he had come to Langstrom's aid when Kirk and Francine had been attacked by the werewolf, Lancelot Pendragon.  It didn't take long for Logann as Incubus, with the help of Batman, to deduce that both Emile Dorian and Achilles Milo were after Kirk, and for reasons that could mean the death of Logann, Lancelot, and their shared younger half-sister.  The three of them were the remnants of an old project funded by Roland Daggett, a project to create the ultimate mutant soldier, a perfect mix of human cunning and animal senses.  And they were all three bonded neurologically through microchips implanted in their brains, to follow the orders of the scientists responsible for their development.  For Logann, that was Langstrom.  But unlike Dorian and Milo, Langstrom wasn't ambitious and cruel, or obsessed and cruel.  But not even he could have stopped the bonding process.

Because if any of the three scientists died, so did the mutant bonded to them.  That was how deep the bond ran.

But two months ago, Logann had also learned the terrifying truth.

There was a password to deactivate the neurochips, to free him, his sister, and Lancelot.  And the only one who knew this verbal command password was Langstrom.

Unfortunately, that meant he was a target, and if the other two scientists wanted to keep their perfect little pets, they would want the password to die with Langstrom.

Dorian had gone after Langstrom the same night Batman and Incubus (and a whole crew of other people besides,) had rescued Guen and captured Milo.  Kirk had managed to escape with Francine in time, but they were no longer safe at their home.  Both men knew where they lived now.  And so, at Incubus's insistence, Langstrom had done the only thing he and his wife could do.

They disappeared.

And it was only through incredible restraint and paranoia that they had remained hidden, living here, comfortably, at the top of the Zeus building.

But Kirk was still agitated, and itching to be free, if only for a few hours.  Logann knew the feeling all too well. 

"Look, don't worry, Langstrom." he said gently, following them into the kitchen.  "All you have to do is keep laying low for a little while longer."

But the scientist was already shaking his head sadly.

"You didn't see the news earlier, did you?"

"No…"

"Your sister's back.  She crashed the Skating Charity Fundraiser in the park."

Logann stiffened with shock, and Langstrom continued.

"And if we can see that plastered all over the news, _they_ can, too."

Logann sighed, forcing his shoulders to relax.  Too many emotions were starting to flood him at once, worry for his friends the most prominent.

"Crap.  This is great, just great." he muttered.

"All the things in the world to say, and all he can come up with is 'crap.'" Francine remarked dryly, showing her rare, humorous side as she cracked a smile.  He almost retorted, when his cell phone went off and he brought it up to his ear.  "Logann."

The scientists watched as the young man's face darkened as the person over the cell phone spoke and he answered tersely.  Finally they had finished their tirade and he snapped the phone shut, working his jaw.

"What is it?" Kirk asked.

"Things just got better," Logann said sarcastically with a bitter smile, "The cops are here."


	8. Ghost...busted

"Officers, please take a seat!  To what do I owe the occasion?"

The blue-clad police stared at him with hard eyes, suspicious of his intentions, but they seated themselves nonetheless on the lobby's guest chairs.  Logann Zeus himself snatched one of the chairs and flipped it around, sitting on it backwards.  He had to supress a grin at the looks on their faces; he was flagrantly acting as though he had no qualms with them, and it was driving the cops nuts below the surface.

"We're following a few leads," said a female officer, withdrawing a couple of photographs from her pocket and thrusting one of them forward, "What can you tell us about the criminal known as Wraith?"

The photo was a grainy shot, but the figure was unmistakable, even with the silver in her hair now.  Logann raised his eyebrows.

"I'm curious as to why you would come to me to ask these things, Officer…?"

"Johnson.  Officer Shakia Johnson," she answered stonily, her dark eyes narrowing, "And I should think the answer to your question would be obvious to a blind man, Mr. Zeus, so don't play dumb.  Intel's done it's homework; we _know_ you're Wraith's older half-brother."

"Then if your Intel's done all that homework," he answered just as stonily back, "You would know that I'm only one of her older half-brothers."

"Oy!  We intend to interrogate Mr. Pendragon when we find him, so chill out Greek boy." Detective Harvey Bullock grumbled around a pretzel he was munching on.  The corners of Logann's mouth turned down as he gave the detective a flat look.  He hadn't had too many one-on-one encounters with Bullock, but he could easily see why Batman wasn't overly fond of the guy.

"Fine by me," he said slowly, "There's no love lost between Pendragon and I."

Shakia's eyebrows shot up at that, but she said nothing, and he took it as a cue to go on.

"But you have to know Guen takes the Pendragon last name.  The late Arterus Pendragon _was_ her father, after all," he said pointedly, "So chances are more likely Lance might know more about her disappearance and resurfacing."

"So you do know about her missing from police radar for almost three months?" said a third officer toward the back of their group.

"Considering that it was our mother on the news, sobbing her eyes out because sis had suddenly disappeared right out of our apartment, I'd be a bit of an idiot not to know."

"Are you getting smart with me, Zeus?" Shakia growled.

"I should hope I'm not getting dumb." He answered mildly.

"Johnson, cool your jets," Bullock sighed, "Ain't no point in asking Mr. Greco-Pants stupid questions.  Zeus, I'm gonna put it to ya like so: your daddy is locked up in Arkham 'cause he flew one too many loops around the cuckoo's nest.  An' now your sister's out wreakin' havoc for our boys.  You can connect the dots; we're gonna talk to you about this and the best thing you can hope ta do is cooperate."

Logann stared at him for a long moment, then finally hung his head and sighed.

"Look, I don't know anything about it," he said quietly, "If I did, I'd say something.  I don't like the idea of my sister being arrested, but it's better than the thought she's out there, possibly hurting people.  It will kill Mom when she hears, and frankly, I'd rather see Guen come home.  I know that won't happen, though.  But I don't know where she disappeared to for three months, and the raid on the skate charity gig was a shock to me too.  If I learn anything, I'll come to you guys, but as far as things stand right now, I can't tell you any more than what I've seen on television."

"You better be sure of that."  Bullock said gruffly.  "We've got our eyes on ya, Zeus.  Come on, boys!  Let's go."

Logann watched silently as the officers filed out of the building, prickles of apprehension jabbing at his spine as he watched them go.  Shakia Johnson gave him a frown over her shoulder as she walked out, and his anxiety grew.  If he had to guess, he would say that she was easily the most dangerous beat cop the force had, though he didn't know why.  Something about her was just…off.

"I'll be seein' you later, pretty-boy." She said acidly, to which he gave her one of his more condescending brilliant smiles, bearing all his teeth in a huge grin.

"And I'm gonna break your face, psycho chick." He muttered through his teeth.

He knew nothing other than what he had seen on the television.  He hadn't been lying when he told Bullock that.  But he knew who might know more about his sister's sudden reappearance, and he knew ways he could find out.

He stood up from the chair abruptly and began to stomp back toward the elevator, making one of his employees jump.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Zeus?" the man asked.

"Yeah," he growled, "Fire up my bike and have her waiting in the basement level of the garage.  I have to see someone."

*****

Having breakfast with Two-Face could be something easily considered a disagreeable affair, as he was never pleasant to anyone first thing in the morning.  This matter was what had prompted Wraith to begin the new "family" tradition of "second breakfast," inspired by reading too much Tolkien, and ultimately put into effect after a shortage of Pop-Tarts.  First breakfast would be something good, filling, and wholesome, and second breakfast would be two hours later and consist of, quite frankly, anything Wraith wanted and could think up that wasn't as filling.  "Papa Bear" had taken to the idea and his "Baby Bird" felt like she was having breakfast like a proper family for the first time in she couldn't even remember how long.

On that particular morning, however, she was fighting the urge to snarl around the food in her mouth.

_When I imagined that I would finally be having a 'family breakfast',_ she thought, _I didn't think it would wind up including a stupid stick-thin bimbo blonde._

Cassandra had not been awake for first breakfast, much to the winged girl's relief, but second breakfast had barely begun when the woman graced the kitchen with her presence, glaring disdainfully at the assortment of junk food on the table.  She gave a derisive sniff and took one of the chairs to sit in with a pompous air, as though she were royalty having to settle for something less than her usual standards.

"A college student's idea of a breakfast, I see." she remarked acidly.

"Got a problem with it?" Wraith growled.  Cassandra only gave her an icy look before staring at the food, as though unsure whether she was actually seeing chips, Toaster Strudel, bagels, ramen, Wonka candy, pickles, and cheeseball-n-crackers all coexisting on the same table.  Wraith glared back at her, then shot Two-Face a look that clearly asked the are-you-kidding-me-right-now question.  The gangster shrugged at both women, punctuating his silence by grabbing two of the Toaster Strudels and adding them to his plate.

"This is borderline disgusting." Cassandra muttered darkly, tentatively reaching across the table to snatch a bagel and cream cheese.  She was looking about for a butter knife when she added, "And this is what you do every morning for breakfast?"

"Second breakfast." Two-Face corrected her, snapping one of the strudel pastries in half, nodding at the smug smile that came over Wraith's face.  "First breakfast might be more your speed.  Second breakfast was Baby Bird's idea."

"My idea." Wraith echoed proudly, the feathers on her wings rising a bit.

"I could have guessed." Came the dry remark.  Wraith shot her another look, watching closely as the older woman began to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"What?" Cassandra demanded when she caught her staring.

"Just wondering what brand of rat poison would dissolve in coffee fastest." She replied innocently, grinning when the little color there was in the blonde's cheeks drained to a dead white.

"Calm down, Baby Bird." Two-Face remarked as quietly and gently as he was able in his gravelly voice.  "You're sounding a bit more bloodthirsty than normal."

"Gee, can't imagine why," she answered, sarcasm practically running off her words.  She paused for a moment, then glared at Cassandra again.  "Don't you have any, I don't know, _friends_ you could stay with?"

"I don't have friends, just people I can tolerate," she replied coolly, "Though I suppose if I said that around Gary and Kyle, they would lecture me on the matter."

"And what are those two?" Two-Face remarked, arching an eyebrow.

"Leftover…partners in crime.  From high school." she answered haltingly.

"Your only friends are a couple of dudes you knew in high school?" Wraith snorted.

"Since elementary school, actually," Cassandra sighed, poking at her untouched bagel.  "Kyle's been out making a name for himself in the criminal underworld, working for Edward Nygma under the alias of 'Cube—'"

The effect was instantaneous: the mismatched eyes on the far end of the table met the bright green ones on the opposite end, and Wraith's stomach began doing flips as she glanced intently back down at her plate full of chips.  If Cassandra had noticed the exchange, she didn't let on, nor did she miss a beat.

"—and knowing Gary he'll wind up running around in some costume like the screwball fanboy he is, probably as some monster from his incorrigible Dungeons and Dragons obsession."

"They sound like fun pair." Two-Face chuckled.

"Wait, slow down," Wraith said, standing bolt upright in her chair, something Cassandra said tickling at the back of her thoughts, "You said this guy plays what?"

"Dungeons and Dragons," Cassandra repeated in a long-suffering sigh, "Since he could breathe."

Wraith paused and slowly sat back down in her seat, mind racing.  Dragons.  Something about the mythical creature continued to nag at the back of her thoughts.  She had started her career stealing different things related to dragons, rather than ghosts like most would have expected, given her criminal name.  But in time, she and her other personality had come to learn that the dragons were somehow a prompt from their subconscious mind trying to link them back to something in their past.  The only problem there was they had learned most of Guenhivyre Pendragon's past; her older half-brother, Lance, had told Wraith what she and Guen didn't remember about their childhood, and most of the suppressed memories, particularly the bad ones, returned to her shortly afterward.  And yet, Wraith still didn't remember what was so key, so crucial about a dragon's role in any of it.  She had always assumed it had to do with the last name, Pendragon, but her gut told her that wasn't the case.

"Wraith?" Two-Face asked, his voice sounding distant and muffled.  She glanced up, feeling rather grave.  She had relayed all of this to her "Papa Bear" shortly after joining up with him, and he knew the clue of dragons still bothered her.

"Sorry.  It's just…you know." She murmured, and he gave a slow nod.  Just then, another voice began to speak, this one coming from within her own head.

_The whole 'dragons' issue is bothering me too, you know._

_Guen?_ Wraith prompted, feeling a bit relieved.  It was very odd, knowing that she was the split personality of the true Guenhivyre Pendragon, and being able to communicate with Guen to an extent.  Lately she had begun to worry; she had been spending so much time in control, and Guen had been very, very quiet.  It was an odd sensation, realizing she had a bit of a big sister complex over her other side.

_I sometimes feel like there's an image half-formed in my…in our memories,_ Guen's voice was a soothing balm, despite its nervous edge.   _But whenever I try to focus on it, it vanishes._

_Like a ghost,_ Wraith thought back at her with a touch of smug irony, _I think I know what you're talking about.  Sometimes I get glimpses of what your brainwaves are thinking or seeing, and I can't figure this thing out either.  Did you have a suggestion?_

_Yes,_ Guen answered hesitantly, _But I doubt you're gonna like it._

"Try me." She spoke out loud, ignoring the look Cassandra gave her.

_I think you or I should take another look at the dragon haul you stole.  Perhaps if we study it long enough, it'll give us a clue about the significance of the dragons._

_Well, that doesn't sound bad._ Wraith remarked.

_Wraith,_ Guen responded, her inner voice sounding a touch nervous in the way a too-patient adult is when they're about to give a child bad news, _We left the dragon stuff at Professor Crane's lab._

Her green eyes went wide with realization and she bit her lip to avoid a scream.

"FUDGE BUCKET!" she shouted, kicking the table sharply and jostling second breakfast.  She must have startled them, because Cassandra had leapt from her chair and was backing away with a wary look, and Two-Face had pulled out his coin, rubbing it between his fingers slowly.

"Ugh, sorry," she groaned, faceplanting on the table.  "Guen just gave me some bad news."

Cassandra's look immediately became skeptical and she glanced between the two Rogues, but Two-Face paused and then nodded, slowly flipping his coin and catching it.

"Fair enough," he murmured, "What is it?"

"The dragon clue," Wraith answered, "It's still bugging us.  Guen suggested that we should look at my dragon collection I stole and see if that won't jog any memories.  Except it's still at the Scarecrow's lab."

"Huh.  Can't say I think Doctor Crane would be too thrilled to see you showing up after being underground for the past couple months."

"Yeah, no kidding.  I think he'd actually be the last one I'd need to worry about.  But you get what I'm saying, right?  I can't just show up there before I'm ready to come back to all the girls and everyone.  If I said anything, Crane would keep me there and call up all the other girls."

"You're going to have to face them all sooner or later." Two-Face stated coolly.

"But Papa Bear, I'm just not ready," she sighed in exasperation, "At least, not yet.  What am I gonna do?!"

He gave her a long look, then caught his coin as it came down from a flip and held it out so she could see the good face.

"Good face, you sneak into Johnny-boy's lab.  Bad face, you man up and talk to everyone again."  He explained.  "Sound fair?"

She sat chewing her lip for a second, not liking the odds of either option, but finally nodded, and he flipped the coin into the air.  Finally it began to arc back down, and he snatched it with his right hand, slapping it over into his left.  Wraith got up from her seat and walked over to see as he opened the scarred hand to reveal—

"Good side." She exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Looks like you're sneaking in," he grunted, "Good luck tonight, kiddo."

"Thanks, Papa Bear!" She replied, swooping down to give him a quick hug before running out of the kitchen, drawing her switchblade scythe.  Cassandra glared at the winged girl as she left, the wheels in her head turning.

"Mr. Dent—" she began slowly.

"It's Two-Face to you, Legs." he growled.  Her eyebrows raised sharply.

"Two-Face…may I see your cell phone for a moment?"

*****

The outside of Crane Chemical Labs looked the same as ever, vague and harmless, but that was hardly what worried her.  The trouble was, she couldn't see if any of the interior lights were on, let alone if anyone was inside.

_Should check the garage._   Wraith remarked in the back of her mind.

_The professor doesn't have a car he drives, last I recall,_ Guen thought back to her, _And I know for a fact neither Ink or Twitch own cars._

Still it never had hurt to be thorough, and she wound up entering the garage first, only to find it empty as she had suspected.  With a relieved exhale, she dropped into a crouch and made her way slowly toward the door, straining her ears to see if she could hear anything inside.  When she was satisfied she heard nothing beyond the door or the walls, she carefully leveled her fists, and brought her manacle and wristband together with a sharp crash.  Instantly the drowsiness washed over her once again, followed by the weightless sensation and weird feeling of not knowing where her stomach was.  She gave a quick glance down and found that once more, only her manacle and wristband remained solid, where the rest of her arms looked like pulsing, shimmering mist.  With a frown, she concentrated on the wristband first, then the manacle.  Making the two of them insubstantial remained difficult, as though they insisted on remaining solid, and it was something she had never figured out; why did those two accessories have such a difficult time becoming insubstantial when the rest of her outfit functioned like it was an extension of her?

This wasn't the time to question the matter.  After all, she could only maintain the accessories' insubstantiality for so long, and she needed it in order to get through the door.  When they finally became ghost-like enough for her, she threw herself toward the door, shutting her eyes as best as she could.  Passing through metal was always a bit frightening; it maintained a certain level of temperature, usually a very cold one.  Perhaps it was a silly, child-like worry, but Guen feared that one day passing through metal would wind up killing her, as though the sheer chill would turn her solid again, and she would be killed halfway through.

But her worry was unfounded this day, and she fell inside the lab door unharmed.  Exhaling again as she opened her eyes, she shakily focused on her feet and legs to maintain balance, releasing her mental hold on her wristband and manacle, which gave a soft pop of displaced air as they became solid again.

_Geez, it's been forever since I've been in this place._   She thought.

_I think we could have done without coming back._   Wraith threw in.

_You heard Papa Bear directly: we would have to come back and face everyone eventually.  Even if they're going to be ticked because we disappeared for two months to train._   She replied, the thought just as much for her as it was for her other personality.

_Whatever,_ Wraith sulked, _I still don't like it._

She pushed forward through the main laboratory room, feeling a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with déjà vu, and thanked her good fortune that the room was dark, only the early evening light filtering in through the high windows.

"So far so good, Miss Phantom Thief of Gotham." She told herself with a nervous chuckle.  It was a dorky nickname.  Even Wraith thought so.  But it had gotten stuck in her head at one point, and she was seriously considering adopting it as some sort of title.

_Would you quit fantasizing about getting a headline in the newspaper?_ Wraith griped, her thoughts becoming a bit clearer.   _I'm going to take the reins, if you can't be serious enough—_

"Zip it." Guen hissed, crossing the room quickly and opening the door to the hall.  Only a few of the long ceiling lights were on, flickering faintly, but that didn't mean anything.  Those lights ran on emergency back-up power generators, if she was remembering correctly, and it didn't necessarily mean that Crane and his ragtag family were home.  The nostalgia and déjà vu only grew stronger as she passed quietly through the halls, remembering the first time she had been there, back when her schoolgirl crush on the Doctor of Fear had gotten her into a life-changing, huge mess.

"Feels really weird to be back here." She whispered to the hall, her steps slow and deliberate.  Nothing had changed, though; Professor Crane wasn't much for interior decorating, Twitch was probably too nervous to do anything about it, and she sincerely doubted that Jonathan would allow Ink to go crazy decorating the walls.  No, nothing had changed, and that gave her some relief.  Before long, she located the door to the room that had once been hers, shared with Ink.  Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on the manacle and wristband again, willing them insubstantial just long enough to push her essence through the door.

The room was dark inside, almost pitch-black, but that was of little consequence to her.  She snapped the accessories together again and sucked in a breath as she felt her stomach plunge back into place, going solid once more.  She opened her eyes, squinting in the darkness to the spot where she remembered having set up her 'dragon' collection.  After a few seconds, her raptor vision kicked in, piercing some of the layers of darkness, and she was able to make out the faint outlines of her first steals.  She grinned a bit, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

"Why Miss Pendragon, I daresay you're the best ghost in Gotham." she giggled slightly, taking a step forward.

Too late she felt her boot catch on something, and before she could gasp, it had a hold on her ankle.  The air was pulled from her lungs as she was yanked off her feet, and the ceiling rushed down to meet her as she was hauled upside-down into the air.  More painful still was the sudden shine of a flashlight in her eyes, and she closed them immediately to block out the beam.

"And _I'm_ the best Ghostbuster in Gotham!" came a familiar voice.

There was a small click, followed by a soft glow outside her eyelids, and she blinked, glancing around and groaning.  Twitch stood by the light switch, looking slightly guilty and upset, and Professor Crane was seated on the bed on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Hmm," he remarked, "I'll admit, I'm impressed that trap worked."

Guenhivyre took another quick glance, up this time, and found a long black cord that had her dangling from the ceiling.  Of _course_ she walked right into that trap.

"Fudge bucket." She muttered.

"And _you're_ in trouble."

The black cord gave a shudder, and Guen could only watch the upside-down room spin as she was twirled around by the ankle, a thunderous face with mismatched eyes suddenly looming in her vision.

"Guennie," Ink said in a stern, cold voice, "You've got some explaining to do."


	9. The All-Estrogen Reunion

She was already kicking herself mentally for getting caught, and Wraith berating her for it as well wasn't helping matters any. Still, Guen was able to reflect on the current situation and realized that things could have been worse. A whole lot worse. She had been immediately tied to a chair in the kitchen area, barely any room left to budge a wing should it start to itch, and left to stare down Jonathan Crane while Ink called the rest of their friends up. Yes, things definitely could have gone a whole lot worse. She watched the good Doctor of Fear carefully, the two of them sizing one another up like pitbulls about to fight over scraps.

"Professor Crane." She said simply.

"Miss Pendragon." He replied.

"So when are you going to do it?" She asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"When are you going to man up and ask Ink out on a date?"

His thin face flushed bright red and he crossed his arms irritably, working his jaw slowly before answering. "Don't try to distract my attention from the current situation, Guenhivyre." He snapped. "You seem to be forgetting you have broken into my laboratory without permission."

" _Really_?" Guen groaned in exasperation, slumping in her chair. "Saying that I broke in would imply that, oh I don't know, I actually _broke_ in. Last I checked, ghosting through a solid door and a few walls did not require me to physically pick a lock, smash windows, or break a door down."

"Quit dissembling, Miss Pendragon. The fact of the matter remains that however passively you did so, you still broke into my laboratory, which is a felony."

"So…what are you going to do?" She asked casually. "Call the cops on me? I'm sorry, I don't think that Wraith and I have _quite_ the same standing reputation with Gotham PD as you. Forgive me if I'm inclined to believe that situation would end badly for everyone."

"Which is the most unfortunate reason why I cannot do anything about the matter except leave you in the hands of Ink and the rest of your little gaggle of girlfriends."

"I'd almost say that's not a punishment, but given the current circumstances—"

"You mean your abrupt disappearance that caused absolute bedlam within the circle of our particularly bizarre family that has formed? Yes, go on."

"—you might just be the most heartless man I know."

"Please, flattery gets you nowhere, Guenhivyre. I would have thought you would at least remember that."

"So when are you going to ask Ink out on a date?"

Jonathan gave a ragged sigh of annoyance and rubbed his temples wearily.

"I daresay you're starting to take on more of Wraith's characteristics than you may realize." He remarked.

"Or you know, she's just coaching me on what quips to use on you."

He almost let out an unintelligible noise of anger, when Ink walked into the room, face still thunderous, and addressed him.

"The girls are going to be here soon, Jonathan."

"I am aquiver with anticipation." He responded through clenched teeth.

"Good, then you go let them in. You probably don't want to be in here for this anyway. It could get ugly." She added, and Guen gave a huge gulp of apprehension. She'd seen an angry Ink before, and it wasn't necessarily an experience she wanted to repeat, especially not when she was the cause of the anger. She immediately tried to throw a pleading look in Jonathan's direction, but he merely gave her one of those superior smiles that told her this was a matter of bad karma and exited the room with a bit of a spring in his step.

"Smug bastard." Guen muttered under her breath, and immediately wished she hadn't as Ink turned and glared at her at full 'Ink death-glare' power.

"So…" Ink said, taking deep breaths and crossing her arms, "SO…"

Guen bit her lower lip, not wanting to say much of anything. _Wraith, any ideas?_ She thought desperately, but her other personality had abruptly gone quiet. Still, it didn't appear that Ink was going to launch into whatever she wanted to say until Guen made a remark, so she tried to pick the least annoying thing she could think of.

"Hey, Ink. Uhh…how about those Metropolis tabloids, eh?"

"GUENNIE!" She roared, stomping over to the chair and grinding her knuckles against the sides of Guen's head in a rather rough noogie. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! WE'VE ALL BEEN WORRIED _SICK_!! YOU NEVER CALLED OR EVEN LEFT A MESSAGE SAYING WHERE YOU WENT!"

"Ooooowwww! _Ink_!"

"Oh, _no_ you don't! I'm _hardly_ finished! You could have died, for all we knew, or been kidnapped by Milo! That's right, we all saw the news, we know his bail was paid! He could have kidnapped you for all we knew, and you could be _dead_! But no, then you send us a note with just two words, and we were all worried sick! Do you have any idea what that was like for any of us? Do you?! Why didn't you tell us in the first place?! Not even Incubus knew where you were! And don't think we didn't try asking at Dragon's Blood, Inc. either! Lancey's butler, Gerard! He wouldn't even talk to us, because no one knows where Lancey's at either!"

Ink paused for a breath, starting to sniffle as she sucked in air, her shoulders heaving, and Guen refrained from speaking, realizing what was happening. Ink was trying not to cry, she was so angry. Guen averted her eyes to the floor, chewing her lower lip. Maybe she did deserve this lecture after all.

"Do you have any idea how scared I was? I've had to try telling myself for two months that you were okay, that you were going to call sometime! I don't need to get into Jonny's chemicals to imagine some bad things that could have happened to you! What if you were lying somewhere with a broken wing? I couldn't help you, because I wouldn't be able to find you, because you never told us anything! We're your friends! Friends are supposed to tell each other these things, especially if they're this important!!"

Guen sighed, shut her eyes, and nodded. It was all true, and it was beyond unfair of her to have left her friends in the dark.

"F-friends tell friends these th-things…It's part of b-being f-f-friends…" Came the shuddering, telltale sniffle.

"Ink?" Guen asked, looking up, startled when she saw the beginning of dark tears forming around Ink's eyes. The blonde girl gave a big hiccup and lunged forward, pulling her—and the chair, by extension—into a crushing bear hug.

"I m-m-missed you…" Ink managed to get out before she started to sob silently, shoulders heaving. Guen had an initial moment of panic; she still was getting used to her other personality's more…exotic friends, and she wasn't entirely sure how to go about comforting Ink.

_Take a backseat, Pendragon_ , Came a cool voice in the back of her mind, _I've got this one._

She relaxed, her entire body went slack for a few seconds, then she righted again.

"I missed you too, Inky." Wraith said as gently as she could managed in her scratchy, rough voice. "And I'm sorry about this whole mess. I didn't want any of you to get worried or upset, honest."

"Then w-why didn't you t-tell us?" She asked, looking up with huge, pleading mismatched eyes. "Where did you go? What happened to you?"

"Sorry, honey," She offered her distraught friend an apologetic smile, "But if you've got all the girls on the way, then I'm not gonna spill it just yet. I don't exactly want to go over the details four or five times."

Ink stared at her for a long moment, and for a second Wraith figured she might object, but finally she just gave another hiccup and nodded in consent.

"Okay…I understand." She sniffled, before promptly renewing her bear hug and crying quietly. "S-s-sorryyyyy…I'm…guh-getting ink…all…all over…your…ou-outfit."

"Hey, you need a few seconds to cry it out, sweetie," Wraith said with a half-shrug, "It's no big deal. It'll wash. And hey, if it doesn't, it's all black; it'll blend."

"Q-quit being s-so casual! I'm still m-mad at you." Ink hiccupped.

"If you say so." She said with a knowing smile. "And knowing Banshee and Magpie, they're probably mad at me too. And you all have a right to be; probably not as much of a right as my mother and—" she hesitated, not wanting to say the name that was on her mind, "—and my brothers."

"What are you gonna tell th-them?" Her friend asked, her sobbing almost completely dying down as she wiped her mismatched eyes. "Your mom was on the news a day or two after you vanished. Sh-she was a wreck. She was begging you to come home."

"Oh man…she was?" She murmured, her smile sliding off her face like oil, "Oh, _fudge bucket_."

"What?" Ink asked.

"I screwed up way worse than I thought." She muttered, mind racing through the unpleasant realization again and again, a broken record. "I shouldn't have practically broadcasted my return to all of Gotham."

"Well, it was kind of silly to do," Came the too-generous offer. Wraith stared at her, eyes going wider and wider, stunned that her friend wasn't realizing what she had. If her mother had said Guen had disappeared, and then she had made her return on Gotham television, then that meant…

She started to speak, to break the unpleasant news that terrified her more than she cared to admit, when Twitch entered the kitchen.

"E-e-excuse me, Miss Ink, M-Miss Wraith," he said, a touch nervous, "But I th-think your f-friends have arrived."

"Oh, joy." Wraith groaned, shutting her eyes tight. Here came the tidal wave of lectures and questions.

"B-be sure to th-thank Miss D-Derricks. Th-that nice lady called me on M-Mr. Dent's cell phone," Twitch said gently, "And let us kn-know you were c-coming."

She opened her eyes faster than she thought possible.

"WHAT?" She demanded.

"She gave us the heads-up so we could have a proper reunion!" Ink said happily. The side of Wraith's face began to twitch violently, and she went tense under the ink-ropes, anger seeping through her entire body.

" _Cassandra_." She growled. "Oh, I am gonna _strangle_ that—"

"Ink! Ink, we're here!" A voice called from the hallway. "What's up? What's going on?"

"—Pixie stick."

Within a matter of seconds, four more figures rushed into the kitchen, all with a varying degree of tense worry in their posture. The first was a pretty redhead, curls disheveled and clothes half-backwards from being thrown on at last second. The second was a strawberry-blonde dressed like a casino dealer, complete with the green visor, appropriate, given her line of work. Following her was a mocha-skinned, chocolate-haired young woman in black toting twin Uzis like an American Lara Croft. And bringing up the rear was a very pale girl with rose-pink hair, also dressed in black and carrying a lead pipe in her hands.

"Ink, what's wrong, what—"

The blonde girl stepped aside to let the other women have a clear look—and path—to the captured, winged rogue. There followed an incredibly tense, pointed silence as all eyes turned to Wraith, who fidgeted and squirmed, and finally made a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

"Uh…heh-hey girls. How's it going?" She asked.

Nobody was ever sure after that whether it was Erin or Akira who reached her first, but both of them charged in that second and tackled Wraith in a hug, Erin dissolving into loud, inarticulate sobs.

"WRAITH!" Akira practically screamed at another decibel level in her ear, "GIRL, WHERE YOU BEEN?!"

"Eardrums, eardrums," Wraith muttered, "I still need those."

"Y-y-you're baaaaaaaackkk!" Erin bellowed before burying her face into her friend's shoulder and bawling some more.

"You're back." Vanessa echoed flatly, lowering her pipe, blinking slowly.

"I knew you'd be back," May declared calmly with a knowing smile, "When you were ready."

"That ain't no excuse!" Akira snapped.

"You used a double-negative." Wraith pointed out in vain.

"A-Akira's r-r-riiiiiight!" Erin sobbed. "You should have tooollld uuusss!"

"I know," Wraith said gently, "I know. And it was wrong of me not to."

"Damn right, it was!" Akira snapped again. "You have any idea how fuggin' scary that was?! What the hell happened, woman?! You had us all worried sick!"

"She's got a point, honey." May added, giving a small nod.

"Girls, girls, calm down a little," Ink jumped in, trying to lightly pull Akira off Wraith and the chair. "I already gave her a lecture."

" _You_ may have, but I haven't!" Akira said.

"I think we all need to settle the yotz down a sec," May said in her soothing voice, walking over and trying to disperse the odd dog-pile. "We need to just sit down and talk, preferably with some drinks."

Ink made a face at that, glancing at her friend sideways. "You know Jonathan doesn't keep alcohol here. Twitch could have a relapse. I won't allow it." She reminded them.

"We can make an exception for tonight." Came the prompt reply, delivered so firmly that Ink just rolled her eyes. Within a few moments, the girls were seated around the table, Akira, Vanessa, and May each sharing a bottle of scotch the latter had brought from the Iceberg Lounge. Ink simply poured herself a glass of apple juice and made tea for Erin, who was still crying in her chair, albeit less dramatically now, and Wraith took no drink whatsoever. It was a general unspoken consensus that she wasn't going to be allowed a beverage just yet, given what all she had put the others through. Ink did, however, untie her, confident that she wouldn't be running off any time soon. Wraith didn't mention that she could have just as easily turned insubstantial and run if she felt the need; after all, she still didn't feel completely ready to come back.

_But we need to_. Guen's gentle voice reminded her. _Friends deserve the truth. And I think we've been hiding long enough._

"Okay," Akira spoke up once they had all been seated with something to sip at, "Spill it. All of it."

"Akira—" Erin started to say.

"No, she's right," Wraith sighed heavily. "You guys deserve the truth. But where to start…"

She paused and the kitchen fell silent, save for a couple of pointed coughs and a last couple sobs on Erin's part. At last, she thought back to what would make the most sense to all of them, and let out a ragged sigh.

"Do you guys remember how I lost my scythe at Dorian and Milo's old lab?" She asked, and when the others gave slow, vague nods, she explained, "I thought it was gone forever. And Guen and I were scared, you guys. _Really_ scared. Seeing Roland Daggett pay Milo's bail didn't help that any. Actually, that was the night this all happened. I had been watching the news, saw Milo come out of the courthouse, saw Daggett there…It was just me at the apartment. I don't know what Incubus was out doing and I don't remember what Mom left for. But she must have left the door unlocked or something, because I wasn't alone."

She pulled out the handlepiece of her scythe, taking care to point it away from everyone, depressed on the lever, and the scythe unfolded, opening with a loud ring of unsheathing metal. Erin jumped noticeably, but the other girls leaned in, curious, and Wraith slowly tilted the weapon, angling the blade so they could better see the twin colors of the metal.

"He offered me training and protection, you guys. Sort of a father-daughter partnership in the Rogues' Gallery. He had already talked to me once before the anniversary party at the Lounge, and he visited me again while I was there that night, in my mom's apartment. He hadn't just found my scythe, he'd had it repaired into this." She explained.

"Harvey Dent? Two-Face?" Akira said in disbelief. "Girl, I'd almost ask if you're crazy, but I already know the answer to that one."

"H-Harvey's not a totally bad guy." Erin piped up. "After all, he _was_ the district attorney for a long time."

"Erin's right," Wraith confirmed. "Guen gets along okay with Harvey, and Papa Bear and I are just two peas in a pod, if you don't mind the comparison."

"Now that you bring it up," May said slowly, arching an eyebrow, "There _are_ a surprising amount of traits that you and Dent have in common, honey."

"I can kinda see it." Ink said with a nod, blonde ponytail bouncing. "So what happened next?"

"I said yes to him, of course," Wraith replied, "Protection from Milo and Dorian, _and_ actual training? How could I say no to that?"

"But you didn't tell anyone." Vanessa said from the opposite end of the table in a voice that was carefully neutral. Wraith glanced up at her, furrowing her brow. It was unusual for Magpie to be so quiet, especially when she was in the same room as Banshee. The two usually bounced their energy off each other. Maybe she was having a rough day? If that was the case, Wraith couldn't blame her, and this reunion was probably hurting as much as it was helping.

"No, I didn't," she answered. "He asked me not to tell anyone. He gave me the option of leaving a note for Mom, but I figured Incubus would just as easily take that to Batman and the two of them would find us. I guess it wasn't an order; I could have told you guys at some point, but I just couldn't bring myself to, for some reason or another. I knew you guys were going to be mad—"

"All the more reason to have told us in the first place!" Akira argued.

"If I'd told you right from the start," Wraith pointed out, "The majority of you would have stopped me from going in the first place. Am I right?" And when none of them answered, she gave a smug nod. "Uh-huh, called it."

"You still could have told us more in a message than just 'patience, soon,' also!" Vanessa snapped, drawing the attention of the other girls, who stared at her.

"Calm down, sweetheart," May tried to cool her down, "We're here to put that bit behind us."

There was an odd edge to her tone when she addressed Magpie, one that Wraith made a note of. She'd have to think more on that later; there definitely appeared to be something happening between the lines with her friends.

"It's okay, T.D," she spoke up, "I don't blame any of you for being angry, and honestly, I really should have put more in the note."

"I FORGIVE YOU!" Erin cried, throwing herself across her friend's shoulders, sobbing renewed. Wraith gave a weary chuckle and hugged her back.

"I'm sorry, girls. Really, I am, and so is Guen. We've both missed you, all of you. And we shouldn't have hid."

"I dunno," Akira's tone was wary, "You're rollin' with Two-Face now. I think that's reason enough to keep a lid on it. After all, the guy makes most of his big life choices with a coin."

"I could always have picked Scarface and Mr. Wesker." Wraith pointed out.

"Wesker's a nice person!" Ink protested.

"Scarface?" May said with a wince. "I think she's got a good point, ladies."

"C-come on, you guys!" Erin blubbered and sobbed, spreading one of her arms wide, "G-group h-huh-huuuuuuggg! Our family's back together again!"

"Awww, yay!" Ink said, going to Wraith's other side.

"Truer words, and all that," May smiled, joining them.

"Aww, what the hell." Akira shrugged, tackling them all and giving them a giant squeeze.

"Aww, you guys!" Wraith laughed, turning a smile to Vanessa, "Come on, Mags, I can still breathe over here."

But Vanessa didn't move. She stayed where she was for a moment, eyebrows slowly starting to narrow as she glared, her expression somewhere between hurt and anger, and her jaw slowly working. Finally she stood, but she made no move toward them.

"Need to go out for a bit. Get a breath of fresh air." She muttered as she turned on her heel and sped out the door. Wraith's eyebrows shot up as she watched her friend go, stunned into silence. Erin, Akira, and May all quickly exchanged worried, furtive looks, torn.

"Whoa…what's wrong with Magpie?" Wraith asked, oblivious.

*****

The cover of night had long since set over the city of Gotham, but despite the darkness, the glow of street lamps and signs continued to light the way for the weary inhabitants. But within an apartment off Elm and Canterlon, there were no lights on, save for the faint glow of a television screen. It was paused on a news broadcast, though not one from that day. The viewer studied the screen, dark eyes raking back and forth over the image, taking in every detail of the young woman and her hulking companion.

The moron in the inaccurate Egyptian attire was nothing, save perhaps a minor speed bump. From what he could tell in the broadcast, the man was a complete imbecile, and loyal to her commands to a fault. Someone as easily manipulated as that, however powerful or strong, was hardly a threat. No, it was the girl herself he was interested in; it was she he had always been interested in.

Her wings had grown again. Still no evidence as to what triggered the reactions that caused the growth, and that was painfully infuriating to him! And as if that weren't bad enough by itself, her split-personality was still just as dominant as ever, and that probably meant Wraith was still up to the task of killing him, should he get too close. He clicked his tongue, thinking hard. This was going to be a challenge, as she had always been, and to make matters worse, he had the distinct impression her list of allies among the Rogues had grown.

"But I've still got one thing in my favor, Guenhivyre," he said quietly to the image on the screen, "You've played the first card. You came back publically. I'm beginning to wonder if you wanted me to know."

His cell phone began to ring, the screen lighting up, and he glared at it for a second before opening the device.

"What?!" He snapped.

"Come now, Achilles, that's hardly a proper greeting."

"Emile, it's almost one-thirty." He retorted coolly with a glance at his watch.

"How are you enjoying the game, Achilles?" Dorian simply spoke over him, his smooth voice sounding almost twice as powerful over the phone.

"I'm still unsure why you're calling this a—"

"Oh, but it _is_ a game, my dear boy. A race against time, trapped in a deadly maze. The question is…who will come out alive, and of those, who wins in the end?"

"You've got no stake in this, old man." He spat. "You've got your damned cat monster and a werewolf with family money. You stand nothing to gain in this…this hunt."

"Game, Achilles. It's a game. And don't go making statements you're unable to verify. Or do you forget that I never reveal all of my true intentions to you?"

He growled, unable to form words in his anger.

"That's a good boy," Dorian said, using his most sweet, condescending tone, "Now, if you're going to play this game, I'd recommend you talk to one of the key players sooner or later."

"What are you talking about? This is between—"

"Oh, no no. I'm afraid there is one other individual who is eager to stake a claim in this race. And I've already spoken with him. I would recommend you do the same, but tomorrow. After all, it's an unreasonable hour."

"Imagine that." He quipped.

"I'll have his information sent to your phone in the morning, so you can call. Oh, and Achilles?"

"What?" He growled.

"I've suffered far too much disappointment from you, both as an ally and an adversary in the past," Dorian said coolly, "Do try not to make this too easy for me, would you?"

He might have had more to say, he might not have. But regardless of one way or the other, his voice was cut off abruptly as Professor Milo slammed the phone shut.


	10. Dungeonmaster Rising

Guen swallowed nervously, trying to wipe some of the clamminess away from her hands as she looked up at the door, wondering whether or not she ought to really go through with this.

Instantly the doubt was rebuked by Wraith in the back of her mind, who fervently insisted that they weren’t getting out of this one. A friend was a friend, and if they had really done something by leaving to upset Magpie, then by God, they had to fix it. Still…something about the whole situation just didn’t quite click.

And if it didn’t click, she didn’t feel like playing entirely by the rules.

She brought her wrists together, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the ringing sound before the familiar sensation of weightlessness hit her again, and she watched as her arms became completely transparent. Except this time, there was something else to the transformation. Her insubstantial body seemed a touch more…smoky? Dark? Cloudy?

Guen shook her head. She was just imagining things, that was all. And without a second thought, she charged through the door, ghostly momentum slowed by splintering, aged wood. Once inside, she took a quick glance around, and on hearing voices in the distance, moved toward the shadowy corners of the room and stayed still. She hadn’t been in any of Edward’s hideouts before, and she wasn’t familiar with the layout of the place, but her woman’s intuition said Vanessa was here.

_Our gut, you mean._ Wraith remarked. _And right now, it’s also saying that Eddy’s not here either, so there wouldn’t be any lackeys patrolling the place unless something’s up, and I mean something big, or unless they’re expecting him any time soon._

Guen winced, half-sliding into the wall as though trying to hide before she realized what she was doing and pulled back out. _I can’t say I’m ready to face Eddy just yet. The girls, that’s one thing. But him…_

_AUGH!_ Wraith’s voice was so loud in her thoughts she winced again, ghostly wings puffing behind her. _Pendragon, you aren’t listening! What I’m saying is instead of hiding and skulking here like some creeper would do, we should get moving! Those are probably just a bunch of idiots Edward’s hired, probably playing drunk craps or something and being loud._

She frowned, knowing her other personality was right. She really didn’t have any reason to hesitate, so what was the point? She wasn’t going to give herself away like a moron though, and she started moving again, keeping to the darker parts of the hideout so as not to be seen. She passed through several empty halls on the left before going down the fork to the right. Wraith had been right, in a sense. A lot of the lackeys were in one of the larger rooms, drinking and shouting, most of them engaged in a card game, and a handful of the rest were crowded around a television, most likely watching some sports game or some other. She scowled as she clung to the wall, crouching low in hopes she wouldn’t be spotted. Vanessa, here? It seemed far too unlikely, but she’d learned by now that it paid off to listen to her women’s intuition—

_Gut._ Wraith interrupted calmly.

—every once in a while. She shook her head, slipping further into the wall to avoid less notice. Gradually, she made her way across the room until she reached the door at the far wall and slipped through it, still unseen by any of the guys present. The hall beyond was dark and turned sharply to the left, where the only things at the end of the hall were a restroom door and a flight of carpeted stairs up to the second level. She felt a strange urge to beat her wings, to test out their abilities while insubstantial. Could they possibly carry her up to the second floor?

_Don’t think it would work that way,_ Wraith interjected sourly, as though she too, had wanted to try the same thing, _I’m pretty sure they’d have to weigh more than we do right now, and the feathers probably need to be substantial for air to pass through them._

Guen scowled again, shaking her head and bounding up the stairs. _Sure, take all the fun and the mystery out of it._

_Hey, I could go on and on about how we’re constantly breaking the laws of physics when we ghost, but right now Mags is more important._

She had a point there. Guen made her way through the upper level, relying on instinct to try to find her friend. It wasn’t easy; there were probably a good dozen or so doors on the second floor, and Vanessa could be in any one of the rooms, assuming most of them were real rooms.

After all, in a hideout used by Edward Nygma, it was quite possible that any of these were traps or Riddler pranks cleverly disguised as doors. She wasn’t certain why she worried, insubstantial as she was, but if there was one thing Two-Face had pounded into her head in the past two to three months, it was that you should never let your guard down. She slowed her pace, straining her ears to try to hear any possible sound that could provide a clue.

There came a loud crash from behind one of the doors, followed by a choice string of swearing in a distinctly English accent.

“Well, that was easy.” She muttered, bracing herself. In one fluid motion, she passed through the door, and on the other side, brought her wristbands together once more with a ringing tone. Magpie had been standing with her back to the older girl, face turned down, but she jumped at the noise and spun around, blue eyes wide and startled.

“Hey, Nessa.”

The younger girl’s face twisted in an angry scowl, but she managed to keep an even tone as she answered with a cool, “Hey.”

“Listen,” Guen said, a touch awkwardly, “I, uh…I wanted to talk to you.” She got no response, so she swallowed and plowed on, “I just, uh…I kind of get the impression that, well…that you’re not…exactly…happy…with me.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said quickly, perhaps a touch too quickly, “Why’d I be tossed at you?”

“‘Tossed?’” Guen echoed, arching an eyebrow, but Magpie went on, ignoring her.

“After all, you’re back now and what, so I don’t have a reason to get my knickers in a twist.” She said innocently, stooping down to pick up the shattered remnants of whatever it was that she had dropped on the floor. “Though I can’t say as I was expecting you to go and pop up in my doorway out of the blue.”

“Uh, Magpie?” She interjected, starting to feel slightly irritated, “I’m three years older than you. And I kind of know a thing or two more about mood swings than you do. And you’re upset with me.”

Vanessa immediately went rigid, pink bangs bouncing as she straightened up, and she stared at her winged friend, shocked and rapidly turning pink.

“Come on, why can’t you just tell me what it is? Just talk to me already,” Guen pleaded, spreading her arms, “We’re friends, and if I’ve done something to upset you, I’d rather you tell me, so I don’t do it to you again. Come on, this can’t just be about me leaving. I know I upset a lot of people, but…”

“Stuff it.” Magpie muttered, and before Guen could do anything to stop her, she bounded across the room, threw open the window, and dropped out of sight.

“MAGPIE!” Guen shrieked, running until her midriff hit the windowpane, leaning halfway out the opening and looking around for her friend. It was no use. Magpie had quite effectively vanished, and God knew where she’d gone to.

“Fudge bucket!” She muttered, slamming her fist against the wall. She stayed there for a long time, not bothering to make herself scarce until she heard voices shouting from the first floor to check on Magpie.

“This day just keeps getting so peachy keen.” She spat, leaping from the open window to the next roof over. Fast as she could manage, she made her way back to the old hotel. Even with the annoying presence of Cassandra, it would be a lot better than hanging around here and waiting for Magpie to return. And perhaps Two-Face or The Mummy had some advice for her on how to handle this situation…

*****

Ramsey wasn’t _quite_ sure how he had ended up in this particular predicament. After all, a fellow that was minding his own business, not doing anyone any harm, should be left to his own devices. Except things had not exactly worked out quite that way in this particular circumstance, and he had little hope that he could reason with his captors. For one thing, they were made of bright copper, and for another, no matter how many times he had tried to struggle free, they kept their grips on him, mindlessly following orders they wouldn’t divulge. In the end, he decided it would be better to simply stop fighting and wait to see where he was being taken and what the purpose of this absolute impertinence was to serve.

The copper beasts were carting him tirelessly in the direction of Gotham Bay, keeping to the dingiest back alleys they could find, and somehow escaping notice of everyone except the most unfortunate homeless that scurried away at their approach, watching with wide-eyed terror. 

Something stirred deep in Ramsey’s chest at the sight. If he were in charge of this grim hole that dared compare itself to the glory of Egypt, there would be no such poverty. He would see New Egypt reborn, and the proper caste system restored. None such as these would go hungry or need or want ever again, not if he could help it.

He was half-considering ranting about this to his captors, so that someone could at least hear the glorious righteousness of his supreme majesty, when movement at the corner of one of the intersections between the buildings caught his eye. At first, he wasn’t too sure of what he saw, but a moment later, he recognized her.

“Dear sweet Ptah! What brings a splendid and exquisite deity like yourself to this dismal hovel?” He called. The copper creatures paused to look at him, and the blonde-haired woman with the ink running from one eye trotted to catch up to them.

“Ramsey? What’s going on? Are you okay?” She said warily, gaze shifting between the creatures that carried him.

“Alas, my pride has been grievously wounded,” he sighed, “But beyond that, I am unharmed. These beasts are carting me off somewhere, doubtless to meet their esteemed master, who clearly must wish to pay homage to my shining magnificence!!”

Ink raised her eyebrows, looking from The Mummy to the copper elves, which watched her with expressionless metal faces, and couldn’t help but feel that Ramsey somehow wasn’t quite looking at the situation from the same perspective she was.

“Okaaayyy…” she said slowly, watching the robots to see if they reacted, and when they remained stock-still, she nodded to Ramsey. “They don’t seem to be taking you anywhere right now.”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid your irresistible radiance must have stunned them into submission, lovely Ptah.” Ramsey huffed a sigh of what was clearly misplaced irritation before addressing the creatures, “Ah, you may resume.”

Immediately the copper elves hefted him again and continued on their way, and Ink, still feeling a little uneasy by the whole thing, trailed along behind them at a small distance, much to Ramsey’s delight and desire for a conversation.

*****

Magpie waited until she saw Guen leave, then skittered away from the hideout in the opposite direction, eager to put as much distance between her and the older girl as she could. But after she had already gone a little more than a block and perched behind a chimneystack on a different roof, she began to think about what had just occurred. She knew Guen; the winged girl was being sincere. She honestly wanted to know what Vanessa was so upset about, so she could fix the situation. But then, what did that mean? Was she completely clueless about this whole thing with Eddy?

“ _Bollocks_!” She spat, kicking at broken pieces of shale. “How could she not know?”

But then again…what if she didn’t? Vanessa had said almost more than three months ago at Guen and Ink’s slumber party that she liked Eddy. Guen had been there for that, so she knew that much.

But what if she didn’t know how The Riddler had reacted to her disappearance?

Magpie grumbled in frustration, pulling at handfuls of her dyed hair. She wished Akira or Ink or May or Erin were there for her to talk to, to get advice from. Akira at least, would let her rant. Erin would probably let her rant, but given the redhead’s state lately, she would be more likely to break down into tears about the whole thing. Ink was always great for playing the responsible older sister…but the more she considered that possibility, she wasn’t sure what sort of advice the blonde girl would give her. That left May. May would at least keep her cool about the whole thing, like she always did. But she was also equally likely to skirt around telling Vanessa the best way to handle the problem and just pump her full of vodkashakes until she tried tying her shoelaces with an orange peeler.

“Ugh! I have no one to talk to!” She groaned, exasperated.

“Aww, that’s too bad, sweetie,” a familiar voice said, somewhere behind her, “I was going to ask if you were up for a little chat, considering I just got here.”

She twisted around, only half-surprised to see a familiar masked face grinning at her from over the rise of the chimneystack.

“Y’know, if I didn’t know any better, Rags, I’d say you were followin’ me around.” She remarked carefully, raising her eyebrows. Ragdoll faked a simpering pout in response as he folded—she didn’t think there was any other way to properly describe the motion—down to sit next to her.

“Aww, Magpie, that really stings!” He said in a voice that sounded more amused than hurt, “You know me, I’m a nice guy! I just happened to be in the neighborhood, around this rooftop, and when I saw you over here, I thought you looked a little down! And better to have me cheer you up than the Joker, eh?”

“So does that bag of pearls have anything to do with ‘just being in the neighborhood,’ or are you being tailed by the boys in blue?” She asked.

“I was going to take them to my dear old mother, but then I remembered she doesn’t live here. And don’t worry, doll-face, the Gotham police never think to check the ventilation systems. I shook them off.”

“At least that’s one thing I don’t have stress about.” She said with a sigh, leaning back.

“So what are you stressing over?” He asked, reaching into the leather bag that hung from his thin shoulder and withdrawing a long pearl necklace. Gingerly, he lifted it over her head and let it fall in place. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Come on, you did say you need someone to talk to.”

“I said I don’t have anyone to talk to.” She corrected, though she couldn’t quite hide the smile that was creeping onto her face.

“Same difference,” he said with a shrug, “One implies the other.”

She let out another sigh, this one heavy and drawn-out, and she shut her eyes.

“Have you…have you ever liked someone, only to find out they like one of your best mates instead?” She asked.

“Numerous times.” He answered with a solemn nod. “It’s not exactly easy to find a lady interested in you when you’re the triple-jointed freak of a wingman.”

“You’re somebody’s wingman?”

“On occasion.”

“I’d think that ladies would be keen on a guy as flexible as you.”

He gave her a look she couldn’t quite read, half-hidden by his mask as it was, then shrugged helplessly, splaying his hands.

“So…” she said slowly, hoping to get back on-topic, “What’ve you done when that happens? When you like somebody and they like your best mate?”

“I give it up as a lost cause,” he answered simply, “Occasionally I’ll go out for a few drinks first, then when the hangover hits, I just give it up, move on, try to find someone else.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It just sort of becomes a routine after it happens to you a lot.”

Silence fell over them, and she touched the string of pearls, running her fingers over and over the smooth surface, thinking hard. She didn’t trust very many people, and she was hesitant to tell him more, but she got the feeling Ragdoll was being sincere with her. Still…

“Promise you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to say to you?” She asked.

“Thief’s honor.” He answered with his most charming smile, and she took a deep breath, held it in for a moment, and let it out in a tirade that she’d been holding in.

“I’ve really really liked Edward for a long time now and I don’t think he’s ever caught on because I’ve never had the guts to tell him, but all my best mates know I like him, and just recently I learned he’s got it bad for Guen, but I don’t know if she knows it, and none of us know if she likes him back or not, and I just all but shoved her away when she tried to talk to me and ARGH! Bloody hell, things have just been a wreck since she left and came back and this all happened!!”

The silence came over them again, this time with a distinctly awkward atmosphere, and she felt her face go quite hot as Ragdoll watched her. But it didn’t last long before he spoke up.

“Sounds to me like you’re not quite sure what you want or not.” He said. “Sounds a little bit like running away from the problem too, if you ask me. Then again, we’re thieves. Running is what we do best.”

“But that doesn’t have anything to do with a friendship problem!”

“Hey, do I _look_ like some guru Princess Skittle-Hair uni-pega-pony here?” He asked, gesturing to his patchwork costume. “I don’t have all the answers, sweetheart. I’m just ruggedly handsome.”

She grinned in spite of herself and let out a small chuckle.

“Fair enough.” She answered, offering him a warm, genuine smile that made her cheeks go even hotter. “Thanks for listening anyway, Rags. I think you helped me answer my own question anyhow.”

*****

Gary Myers slowly removed his glasses, taking a long moment to clean the lenses, before replacing them upon his long, sloped nose and meticulously adjusting them. His drow automatons, all four, had returned with two different men in tow, and he knew in that instant, he was going to have to reset their command parameters.

“I said we need a damsel in distress for this job. You brought me Bruce Wayne,” he said to the first set before turning to the second, “And some crack head in need of a haircut and some serious remedial Egyptology classes.”

“Hey, Rams isn’t a crack head! You’re being really rude!” Came an indignant voice from a few feet behind the automatons. Ahh, that was right. He thought he had seen a girl come in behind the automatons. He waved for the drow to part, then approached the young woman. She was perhaps a few years younger than he, a few inches shorter, with wavy blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, a left eye that was a pleasant shade of blue, and a right eye that was a glistening black pool of…well, what appeared to be ink, considering it was trickling perpetually from her tear ducts and running down to clot at the collar of her gray hoodie.

“Interesting.” He remarked, tilting his glasses slightly as he peered at her. “You’re a patient at Arkham, aren’t you?”

She clamped her mouth shut, studying him with such a scrutinizing gaze that he was reminded forcibly of his mother, and he let out a somewhat irritated sigh.

“Very well,” He went on, somewhat mollified, “I apologize for my remark about your friend. Really, this entire thing looks rather poor from my perspective.”

At that she relaxed a bit, and he slowly walked in a circle around her, humming to himself. The action must have upset the guy in the ridiculous mummy get-up, as he started shouting something incomprehensible behind his gag and kicking his feet wildly, but Gary wasn’t too overly concerned. His automatons were built for some decent durability if nothing else, and would hold their grips. He finished his circle, stroking his chin thoughtfully, and the girl raised her eyebrows suspiciously.

“What?” She asked.

“Hmm? Oh, don’t mind me. I was just wondering, what exactly can you _do_?”

“What can I do?” She said testily, and he gave a heavy nod, hoping she’d catch on. Thankfully, she seemed to understand exactly what he was aiming toward, and she raised a hand, looking to the gagged guy in the linen bandages. His shining black gag flew off his mouth with enough force it caused him to recoil, gasping, and the black substance flew to the girl’s outstretched hand.

“I thought he might get himself in trouble if he started talking right away.” She said with a slight nervous chuckle, looking slightly guilty, and the man burst into a tirade.

“Of all the audacity! Insults against my person are one thing, but how dare you speak to the goddess Ptah in so familiar a manner!!” He roared, “You sir, shall be smote by the holy fires of Lord Ra where you stand! Your body shall be left on display for the carrion eaters of the sky to pick clean! You—“

The black inky substance flew from its perch on the girl’s hand and affixed itself back into place over the huge man’s mouth, cutting off his rant, and Gary arched an eyebrow at her.

“Might get himself in trouble, huh? What’s your name?”

“Ink!” She said brightly, pointing to the trail of the stuff oozing out of her eye, and he almost groaned at how obvious that was. Still, despite her abilities with her…ink, she had a personality that seemed relatively harmless enough. And in order to avoid doing anything that might upset her and result in one of his ribs being broken, what was the harm in asking for her help?

“Tell you what, Ink,” he said with a smile, “What I’m trying to do here is set up a game for Gotham PD and the Batman. And I could really use your help.”

“What kind of game?” She asked, frowning. “You aren’t planning on hurting anyone, are you?”

So she was sharper than she let on! That was a refreshing addition.

“I’m quite glad you’re interested!” He said brightly. “You see, it’s always been my dream to run with the big names; Joker, Poison Ivy, Two-Face, the Mad Hatter, the Scarecrow…but I’m just a nobody right now. Then it hit me: there are three of the world’s most brilliant minds, right here in Gotham! The Batman, The Riddler…and myself. So why not use my genius to my advantage?”

She worked her face into a neutral expression, showing mild, polite interest.

“Sounds reasonable.” She offered.

“Precisely!” He agreed, “And as such, since the Batman and the Riddler have brilliant gimmicks, I need one too. And mine is my game! The Dungeonmaster has to bring some structure to the chaotic game of Gotham City! But in order for that to happen, I’ve got to get my name out there, and what better way than to find a damsel in distress for the city’s heroes to rescue, and the media to capture it all on film?”

“So…kind of like a medieval knights rescuing the princess thing?”

“That was the intent. Although my automaton drow need their parameters tweaked a bit. And that’s where I need your help! One of the other essential parts of the game is that it requires memorable NPCs, Non-Player Characters, that can give assistance to the players.”

“So you want me to be an NPC-thingy?” She asked.

“If you’re alright with that. You’re pretty much going to wait in one spot for Batman and the police to arrive, and then when they show up, you help them by acting as a guide.” He explained. Her eyes flicked over to Bruce Wayne for a brief second, and she seemed to ponder hard on the offer before her face finally beamed.

“Sure! It sounds like fun! As long as I don’t have to hurt any of the heroes!”

“Perish the thought, Ink.” He said, shoulders relaxing, and turned to face Bruce Wayne, stroking his chin again. “You’ve been awfully quiet this whole time, Mr. Wayne.”

“I didn’t think it was a wise idea to try antagonizing my kidnapper.”

“Hmm. There’s no way I’m the first person to ever kidnap you.”

“Look,” the billionaire said, skirting around the hidden question in his statement, “I’ll uh…I’ll cut you a check if you let me go.”

“I’m not sure about that, Mr. Wayne.” He said, shaking his head slowly. “I’m not in this for monetary profit, I just want some recognition. Besides, between you and the reject Cairo diva over there, you’re looking to be my best option for a damsel in distress.”

“Surely the sound of one million dollars in your bank account is worth more than all this trouble?” Bruce said in an enticing voice and Gary winced.

“I won’t deny that it does sound nice, Wayne. Money like that could not only pay off my mother’s mortgage and medical bills, but my debt too. _Believe_ me, I could use a check like that.” He said with a sigh, before glaring in irritation. “But I’ve already come this far, and I’m close to my goal. I never give up the game without a fair roll.”

He withdrew a twenty-sided die from a pocket and held it up for everyone to see.

“For the game.” He said slowly, and he bounced the die from his hand, where it hit the tiled floor, bounced a few feet away, and rolled to a stop against the wall. Hesitantly, Gary approached it, kneeling down to get a better look.

“Seventeen.” He said with a sigh of relief, scooping the die up in his hand. “The game goes on.”

He turned to face them all, wide eyes staring at him, and he smiled coldly.

“All that’s left is to set it in motion and alert the players.”


	11. The Game Begins

Bruce had time enough on his hands that he had to assess the situation, to formulate some plan of action for dealing with this "Dungeonmaster" and his half-baked plot. Truthfully, he had been in worse situations. Far worse. And thankfully, he did have the costume on underneath the Italian suit, with his cape and cowl stored in an airtight compartment on his utility belt. The biggest problem with this situation was finding the right moment to switch into his costume without anyone seeing, and that had to come after he found the right moment to get out of the ropes tying him to the chair.

This Dungeonmaster was smart, Bruce had to give him that. He had ordered his automatons to tie up Bruce and The Mummy, then to stand guard over them. That was a problem; the robots were constantly on the alert, whether or not their creator was paying attention. And his attention was divided constantly. They had been joined before long, by a guy with dyed, spiked hair and multiple piercings, who stood with the Dungeonmaster in front of a computer for a good quarter of an hour. Bruce knew him; Kyle Roberts, also known as "Cube," was a brilliant hacker, and had acted as a bouncer on occasion for the Iceberg Lounge. After all, Batman had interrogated Cube over three months ago when the incident with Professor Achilles Milo and Guenhivyre Pendragon had gone down, with pandemonium breaking out at the Lounge. The trouble was, despite his hacking and programming abilities and the rumors of him having worked for Edward Nygma at some point, Cube had a relatively clean track record. Despite some parking violations on his liscence, there was no evidence he had ever done anything illegal.

"There you go, man." Cube said before long. "Every T.V. in Gotham will play your video in about two minutes. You need anything else from me?"

"Yes," he replied immediately, "I need you to play an NPC."

"What?" Cube said, thrown for a loop. "Gary..."

"I thought _I_ was going to be an NPC!" Ink pouted from nearby. She had been working to calm down The Mummy for several minutes by this point. After a second her face brightened. "Hey, are we _both_ going to be NPCs? That'll be fun!"

"She catches on fast, huh?" Cube remarked mildly. Bruce glanced from him to the Dungeonmaster. So his name was Gary?

"Yes, Ink," Gary answered her with a small, genuine smile, "You're both going to be NPCs. After all, the game needs several of them. Unfortunately, I've only got one other person who's agreed to be an NPC, and they've not showed yet."

"Who would that be?" Cube asked.

"Someone called 'The Peacock.'" Gary replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Sounds like a bad pop song."

Bruce frowned. He knew who The Peacock was too, and he somehow doubted they would show. The Peacock was probably never going to show, as a means of playing a bit of a joke on Gary. After all, the two weren't exactly on the same level of villainy yet.

"Guess I've got nothing better to do today." Cube sighed, shrugging his shoulders lazily. "Do we get costumes to go with the part?"

"Costumes?!" Ink gasped, her face lighting up as she charged over.

"Well...yes." Gary said helplessly. He turned away from them for a moment, marching over to a box in the opposite corner of the small room, bending over to inspect its contents. Bruce took the moment to glance at the automatons again. The elfin robots kept their focus on their creator, but there was another automaton that was slowly prowling the length of the room, its joints creaking softly as its head swung from side to side, no doubt acting as surveillance for Gary. It was an odd thing, shaped like a too-thin panther with six legs and long, wiry ropes of muscle that sprang from its shoulder blades and ended in flat, round pads with several small spikes rising from them. He narrowed his brows at the thing as it passed him, then glanced back to Gary, who had several pieces of costumes cradled in his arms and was carrying them to Ink and Cube.

"Here you are. This one is yours, Kyle, and this is yours, Ink." He said firmly, handing them each the costumes. "You don't need to completely change if you don't want to, you can just wear them over your clothes. If you want to though, there IS a restroom...Kyle, could you show her?"

Cube shrugged in response and motioned for Ink to follow him, and in that moment, Gary's eyes flicked onto Bruce, and he arched an eyebrow.

"Watching my security, huh?" He said, a note of smarmy pride in his voice, tossing a look at the prowling robot cat with six legs. "Just remember he's watching you, too."

"What is it?" Bruce asked, keeping his tone light. "I've never seen a big cat with six legs and, uh..."

"He's a displacer beast." Gary answered, chest swelling with pride as the automaton in question stalked up to him and sat at his feet. He gave the thing an affectionate pat on the head, smiling. "Highly underrated stock monster from the monster manual. I love 'em."

"Those barbs look like they could kill..."

"Perhaps if you were stupid enough to try using them as a pillow." The Dungeonmaster agreed with a snort and a rolling of his eyes, crossing his arms in annoyance. "If you're worried about getting hurt, Wayne, relax. None of my automatons will kill. They won't even seriously maim anyone. They can disarm, fight defensively, and could probably lay you flat on the ground, but seriously hurting or killing people is not my goal, so it's not in their command parameters."

"You know, for someone wishing to be a supervillain, you've got a strange code of ethics and morals. Doesn't really seem to fit the whole supervillain mindset." He remarked, hoping to keep Gary strung along in a casual conversation. But when the younger man said nothing, he continued, trying a different approach. "If you're not doing this for personal gain, what are you doing it for?"

"You're awfully nosy for a philanthropist."

"Not a whole lot to do until the police come and save me."

"Hmm..." The Dungeonmaster regarded him thoughtfully, steely gray eyes studying Bruce as though trying to detect something. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. I mean, after all, the more people there are talking about this, the more it might help. If you must know, Mr. Wayne, I'm trying to flush someone out of hiding by sticking my neck out."

"What do you mean?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure if you heard of him, but my father was a respected authority in the robotic science and engineering community. When I was rather young, he left home for a while, taking on a rather big job that was going to pay really well, commissioned by one of the wealthiest families in Gotham, like your own. However, he and the man paying him for the work were both murdered one night, and authorities never found out who was behind their deaths. I'm hoping that by getting my name out and among the more respected rogues, I'll prompt my father's murderer to come find me and finish the job."

"But that's suicidal!"

"Maybe," Gary agreed with a mild shrug. "But I doubt I'll find the guy any other way. I've tried simply researching and doing a little detective work on my own, but the trail is old and always leads to dead-ends. This is my chance; I want to see if I can get this lowlife to surface. And when I do, perhaps I'll be able to have _someone_ on my side at that point. Someone who can help bring this killer to justice for what he's done."

Bruce pondered that for a moment. The very idea was crazy, but he had so many brilliant foes among the Rogues Gallery already that proved to dance along the line that separated genius and insanity. Gary was no different, albeit not homicidal. Still, something about this all bugged him.

"Did you ever figure out who commissioned your father?" He prompted.

What the younger man said next was one of the last things he expected to hear.

"I vaguely remember Dad mentioning a name. I believe it was Arty Pendragon. Mind you, I have tried to get ahold of the guy's son, Lance Pendragon. D'you know him? Oh, who am I kidding, you guys probably went to frat school together. Can't get ahold of Lance to talk about this though; his butler keeps saying he's busy dealing with family matters, something about a little sister or whatever who ran away from home a few months ago."

*****

Gordon's mood had been rather sour since the televised message from the man in the dark, forbidding robes and it had gone from bad to worse on the drive to the address they had been left. He was not in the mood for this at all, and he doubted that his detectives and the squad boys felt any differently. The address in question turned out to lead to a warehouse just off the docks of Gotham Bay, and this particular warehouse, according to Lieutenant Rossin, had been out of use for a handful of months or so.

"Commish!" Bullock said almost the second his foot touched the ground outside the car. "We've got the place surrounded. Give us the word and we'll--"

"I don't want any unneccessary violence or gunfire, Bullock," he said in a tone of strained patience, "Don't forget this guy's got Bruce Wayne hostage, and probably more people besides."

"Right," Bullock said with a nod, unfazed, "Johnson still ain't showed up but other than that, we're in place. So whaddaya think?"

He paused for a moment before answering. Johnson wasn't with the others? That was strange. If there was one thing Shakia loved, it was being on the field and busting heads. In fact, sometimes she seemed to love it a little too much, and it made the commissioner worry, but still...he hoped she was alright.

"I'm not sure," he answered the detective, "Something about this whole situation doesn't seem right. It seems to be too open, like this 'Dungeonmaster' wants everyone to know who and where he is."

"He's not gonna be the first whack-job t' think like that," Bullock remarked, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "Or the last. But yeah...somethin' about all this seems off."

"Commissioner?" Lieutenant Rossin piped up for the first time in several minutes, looking a bit nervous and pale, "Do you want me to go ahead and give the signal?"

"Not yet," he replied, "Bullock, you're going in with me. Montoya takes point out here, and tell her she'd better be ready to bring the rest of the boys in the second she hears my gun go off. Rossin, you're coming in with us."

The lieutenant swallowed hard over a lump in his throat but nodded, hand slipping to close over his baton as he trotted along behind the commissioner. Harvey Bullock broke away for a moment to relay the orders before rejoining them at the door, adjusting the gun holster on his suspenders under his jacket. Gordon stared at the door for a moment, frowning, still confused by the utter absurdity of the whole thing.

_Well, here goes nothing,_ he thought. Slowly, he opened the door, stepping inside, Rossin and Bullock on his heels. The inside of the warehouse was only lit dimly, but at once they could tell that the structure of the place had been modified; large sheets of dark metal had been erected to form walls, walls that probably ran all over the warehouse in some sort of bizarre attempt at a maze. Beyond that there was little to behold, save for a small, familiar blonde person waiting for them just inside, at the corner of a bend in the makeshift wall.

"Hi, Commissioner! Hi, Harvey!" She called, bouncing on the soles of her feet and waving, her blonde ponytail swaying back and forth.

" _Ink_?" Bullock spluttered in disbelief. He had been instinctually reaching for his gun, but dropped his hand at once, shocked to see the young woman there. Gordon couldn't blame him; Ink was one of the generally more complacent patients at Arkham, and they had both been there the night when Gordon first found her in Gotham in the dead of winter, with no idea who she was and no memory whatsoever. She was generally well-behaved, with an innocent mind and child-like behavior, but she was the last person they were expecting to help this 'Dungeonmaster.'

"Hi, lieutenant!" She waved at Rossin before turning back to them, gesturing to the ridiculously bright, feathered costume she was wearing. "I get to be an NPC!" She declared proudly. "I'm supposed to help you find your way through the monsters and rescue Mr. Wayne and Ramsey. Oh, and Batman and Robin too, when they show up!"

Bullock threw a significant look at Gordon, as though questioning why the Dark Knight and his sidekick hadn't already arrived on the scene. Gordon tried to ignore him, worried as it was that the two had yet to show up.

"Ink, this isn't a game--" Bullock started.

"Yes it is," she interrupted, very matter-of-fact and serious, "That's exactly what it is! Mr. Ga--sorry, The Dungeonmaster just wants us all to play his game. He's not even gonna hurt anyone."

This time the commissioner did meet Bullock's gaze. Ink's trusting naivete was probably going to get them all in trouble again, but she wouldn't lie. Not intentionally, at any rate. Reluctantly, they eased up a little, gesturing for her to lead the way, and she squealed, practically bouncing on her toes. None of them noticed the small shadow slip into the warehouse behind them, hugging tight to the darkened corners before scrambling up and over one of the fake walls...

*****

Tim could feel his heart pounding underneath the suit as he tried to navigate the giant maze on his own, slipping over the false walls where he was able, and crouching low as he snuck past prowling automatons, intent on finding Bruce. Barbara was guiding him through as best she could over the comlink in his ear, but the connection was fuzzy, probably thrown off or dampened by some effect of the Dungeonmaster's making.

"Come on, Batman, where are you...?" He muttered, gritting his teeth as he rounded a corner. He could faintly hear Ink chatting away to Commissioner Gordon, Detective Bullock, and Lieutenant Rossin elsewhere in the maze, and his sole comfort came in the fact that the automaton monsters were probably programmed to move toward them, since they came in the front door. But even as he thought that, he heard a low, metallic growl nearby and froze, slipping a red Batarang from his utility belt and holding it at ready. Slowly, a lumbering monster came around the corner to his right, towering high above him, its five heads swiveling to focus on him in surprise.

"Oh, _shi_ -take mushrooms..." He mumbled, eyes widening.

"Robin?" Barbara's voice squawked fuzzily over the comm. "What's going on?"

"Got any tips on how to dodge five heads at once?" He muttered back to her. The metallic creature made several clicking, squawking noises, and suddenly the walls on his immediate left and right sides flared to life, lighting up and illuminating the small enclosed area with the moving image of an ominously cloaked man. Tim glanced between the two screens, half-tempted to reach for his collapsing quarterstaff to use.

"Ahh, there's half of the dynamic duo." The Dungeonmaster spoke in a deep, impressive voice, the sound echoing loudly throughout the warehouse. "Though I must say, you're a bit...shorter than I expected, Boy Wonder. So tell me, where's your menacing mentor? On his way to cheat the system and try to rescue Mr. Wayne before the cops?"

"Actually, he's not here yet," Tim answered lightly, "Fashionably late."

The Dungeonmaster withdrew slightly from whatever camera was focused on him, recoiling in anger. "What?!" He squawked, and the automaton shifted restlessly, its five heads moving in agitation. "You mean to tell me that I set up this game-- _my game_!--in hopes of going up against one of the other greatest minds in Gotham, and he doesn't even bother to show up?! He sends his sidekick instead? This is an insult! AN OUTRAGE!"

Tim frowned, both a little irritated and exasperated.

"You know, you should be happy you're lucky enough to even get me here," he quipped, "If you're gonna set yourself up as a third-rate hack in a warehouse to start with, you usually aren't gonna get Joker's level of attention."

He thought he could faintly catch the man's features beneath the hood, shocked and furious. Admittedly, he'd probably gone a little far with that last remark, but still...

"Hydra!" The Dungeonmaster's voice boomed, and the five-headed automaton went rigid in response. "Engage Robin. Attack sequence seven, pattern jaguar!"

The screens winked out, and the hydra's heads swung around to face him.

"Man, you look like the detention lady at school!" He snapped, flinging the Batarang at the hydra, darting forward as the weapon bounced off three of the thing's heads in quick succession. The other two lunged to snap at him, but Tim had always been quick and compact for his age and he dropped to his side at the last second, sending himself sliding between the automaton's massive forelegs. The hydra lumbered clumsily, trying to move aside so it could get a better aim at him, but he slid further along the cold, tiled floor before bouncing back to his feet and charging away. Unsurprisingly, the creature followed him, crashing along and knocking the false walls aside. Whatever "attack sequence seven, pattern jaguar" was, the thing wasn't very good at it. But he was counting on it being persistant, like Batman said most automatons were. All he needed to do was provide enough of a distraction for Bruce to slip away and switch to his costume.

"Robin, what are you doing?" Barbara's voice demanded, squawking and staticky.

"Making a diversion," he answered lightly, hopping into the air and tucking his legs under him to avoid a sweeping lash of the automaton's tail. "Why aren't you here? He needs both of us."

"I'm stuck in the girl's bathroom on campus, hiding out with my laptop trying to help you!" She shot back, indignant. Tim raised his eyebrows beneath his domino mask, feeling a little grossed out.

"Do I even want to know why?"

"Look, just try to find him first. This Dungeonmaster guy doesn't seem to be that stupid, so I'm guessing that he's got another of those robots guarding Bruce. We've got to take that out too, if that's the case."

"Aww, crud." Tim muttered, vaulting himself over another of the false walls, managing to hit the ground running just before the hydra came crashing after him, slamming the wall to the ground and narrowly missing his cape. He hadn't thought about the possibility that another of those stupid robots guarding Bruce; this was going to be a lot harder than he'd thought. He started to zig-zag through the maze, vaguely aware that from time to time he caught sight of Commissioner Gordon and the others, who seemed to get the fact immediately that things weren't exactly going according to the Dungeonmaster's plan.

"Come on, Hydra-bot!" He shouted at the automaton, pausing to turn and pull a taunting stance, "I bet you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn! You're never gonna get me!"

The automaton swung its long tail again, and this time it caught him directly in the stomach, sending him flying through the air, knocking the wind out of him. He expected to hit the ground with a merciless impact, but instead he was caught from out of the air by an unexpected black net, which slowly lowered him to another segment of the floor.

"Geez, Robin!" Said a vaguely familiar voice as the net set him down, and he spun on the spot, watching Ink pull the black substance back into herself. He had to blink several times to realize it was actually her. She was dressed in warm red, gold, and orange hues, outfitted in leather armor that had been decorated elaborately with costume feathers. She wore a stylized helmet too, designed like rising flames that surrounded her face, and her ponytail rose at the back of the helm like a large gold plume. "I know you're Batman's sidekick, but even you should know better than to go off into the high-level areas by yourself when you don't have the right weapons or armor. Experience alone isn't going to cut it!"

"Robin, what's going on?" Barbara's voice squawked over the comm, and he pulled a face, tapping the earpiece to reply.

"You don't wanna know." He answered. Before much else could be said, there came another loud crashing sound and the automaton hydra came sliding around the corner, its five heads rearing back and letting out a loud, mechanical blast of sound as it roared.

"JEEZ!" Bullock yelled, fumbling for his gun. Rossin let out a whimper and grabbed feebly for the feathered gaunlet on Ink's arm.

"Please tell me you can stop that thing!" He yelped in a high voice.

"Tell _me_ we can shoot it." Bullock added in.

"Negative." The Dungeonmaster's voice crackled throughout the warehouse. "Mundane technology and ordinary weapons are forbidden. You _could_ have taken the weapons that the Phoenix Maiden offered you, detective--"

"THOSE WERE ALL FOAM AND PLASTIC!"

"--But now you'll have to rely solely on your wits to take down Robin's hydra."

Tim immediately felt all eyes shift to him, and he had to resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Man, was he in for it now! He brandished his Batarang, pulling it back for a throw, when something went soaring over everyone's heads and smacked the automaton dead-center in one of its heads. A rubber-foam hammer clattered to the ground, and he whirled around in surprise, stunned to see it was Commissioner Gordon who had thrown the thing. The automaton seemed to be quite aggravated, throwing its five heads back and hissing loudly before regaining its composure and advancing on them slowly. There was a yelp of fear from Lieutenant Rossin, who fumbled and finally raised his flashlight, the bright beam shining in the hydra's face.

"Get back!" He shouted at it with all the courage he could muster. The hydra recoiled, stunned, and Ink held up her hands, palms facing the automaton.

"Stop! The Phoenix Maiden commands you to stop! We have won this battle!"

The reaction was slow at first, but unmistakable. As though she'd said some secret password, the creature reacted, sitting back on its metallic haunches and staring in confusion. It coiled its tail back under itself, pushing its forefeet down in a strangly submissive gesture. Ink stared in surprise, lowering her hands and staring at them in astonishment.

"Why didn't you tell us you could do that?" Gordon asked in mild shock.

"I-I didn't know I could." She answered, turning her hands over and trying to study the leather gauntlets on her arms, to see if there was some hidden property there.

"Do you think you could do that to the rest of them?" Tim asked immediately, a grin spreading over his masked face as an idea came to his mind...

*****

Gary reeled back in astonishment at the situation occurring on the monitor. That wasn't supposed to happen! While the automatons were certainly programmed not to harm anyone too much and to avoid striking at the "Phoenix Maiden," they weren't supposed to obey a direct verbal command from anyone other than himself. Had something corrupted their ability to follow their command parameters? Suspicion crept into his mind and he snapped his fingers irritably, gesturing toward the displacer beast automaton as it crept toward him.

"Deploy to the lower floor. Stop the players from reaching this room. Don't harm them, but bar their way." He ordered, and at once the sleek mechanical monster loped off gracefully, slipping out the crack in the door. He released a tense breath, clenching and unclenching his fists several times, praying the automaton would buy him some valuable time. His hands were growing clammy with apprehension. He never lost the game, never! This was his world, his rules, his home away from home. He was The Dungeonmaster, and the players had to respect his will! His monsters had to respect his will.

So why weren't they?

His thoughts immediately jumped to Cube. Had his old friend sabatouged some of the functions of his automatons earlier when Gary had turned him loose on the computers? It was possible; Kyle was perhaps the only person in Gotham outside of maybe Batman and the Riddler capable of hacking his codes. But Kyle wouldn't do that to him, would he? After all, they were best friends and had been since early grade school.

But things change. Wasn't that how the saying went?

He drummed the fingers of one hand rapidly against the cold metal surface below the moniters, using the fingers of his other hand to push his glasses back up the bridge of his long, sloping nose, the cogs and wheels in his head spinning rapidly. Hadn't Kyle briefly taken up working for The Riddler? Or the Scarecrow? In fact, hadn't he worked for both of them simultaneously even, functioning as a double agent? Then that surely meant his loyalty and trustworthiness was to be questioned.

Gary shook his head, and attacked the keyboard for his computer, fingers rapidly smashing out several series of passwords, accessing his program that controlled the remote functions of his automatons. His gray eyes scanned several lines of code, over and over, trying to pick out any possible errors or changes. He found none.

"Thank Bahamut..." he sighed, "Everything is going according to plan."

A huge, rippling shadow rose behind him, obscuring the monitors' glow, two menacing points rising at the top of the shadow's head, and he froze.

"Not quite." A deep, gravelly voice said calmly. Gary spun slowly on his heel, eyes going wide behind his glasses. Bruce Wayne and Ramsey were gone, their chairs empty and heaped with the ropes they'd been tied with, and a single figure towered alone with him in the observation room. Batman's eyes narrowed in an unspoken threat as he advanced.

"It's game over for you, _Dungeonmaster_."


	12. Lady Templar

Incubus gently eased the window open, hopping over the sill and into the apartment.  His senses were on high alert, and he was prepared for the resident to appear at any given second and bash his skull in with the hammer of her gun.  But as it turned out, nothing happened.

_So far_. Incubus thought to himself grimly.  Something about Shakia Johnson just rubbed him the wrong way.  He wasn't totally sure what it was, but she seemed a little too eager to do her job.  Eager, enthusiastic cops in Gotham usually had their careers ended in short order, but she had a dangerous air to her.  And so, following an instinct, Incubus had decided to take the chance of searching her apartment, to see if there was anything that could either put his mind at ease or confirm his fears.  If worst came to worst, he could alert Batman to this and see if the detective shared his concerns.

The inside of Shakia's apartment seemed incredibly clean, from what he could tell.  He looked around the living room, taking small, tentative steps.  Forget clean, this place was _immaculate_.  The furniture looked well-kept and homey, the pictures on the wall were perfectly hung, and the little coffee table had a television remote, a few T.V. Guides, and a drink coaster set neatly towards a corner, as though it had been pre-arranged in the event the officer had unexpected company drop in.

“I doubt I was the sort of company she was planning on,” he murmured to himself, taking care not to pick up the T.V. Guide out of instinct to flip through it.  If he moved or touched anything, she would know, even if he tried to put it back in the exact same spot.  He shuffled toward the small dining area and the kitchen.  Again, immaculate and nothing out of place.  He turned his attention toward the hallway and checked it.  The door to the bathroom was wide open, and even that seemed perfectly clean.  Even the laundry room seemed almost unnaturally clean, save for the clothes hamper, which had garments shoved in it and hanging over the sides in a helter-skelter mess.

“Oh thank God!” He sighed.  The cleanliness of the place was starting to get to him.  When did a cop seriously have that much time to focus on the upkeep of her apartment?

That left the bedroom.  Warily, he went to the door, pushing on it, unsurprised when it simply swung wide open.  A second later his mouth fell open.

“No...way.”

The inside of her room was covered in papers, tacked all over the walls, many crumpled and strewn on the floor.  Most of them were pages, either torn or copied from books.  Very few had illustrations, and there were only a couple of papers that were simply pictures.  On her desk there was a small sewing machine and several pieces of standard-issue police armor that looked like they had been taken apart for examination.  Incubus strode to the desk, giving them a passing glance before looking at the walls, studying the papers.  There were entire paragraphs or sometimes just words that had been gone over with highlighters, and occasionally there were spots were words had been crossed out entirely in angry red pen with notes in the margins.  And from what he could see of all of these papers, they had one common theme.

“Looks like I'd better do a little reading...” he muttered.  “But boy, if the Commish and the Bat could see this.”

He left the apartment in short order, double-checking to ensure that he left everything in its proper place, and vanished from the place entirely.  Not too long afterward, he was back out in the city as Logann Zeus, who, for all intents and purposes, was on his way to the Gotham Public Library to do a bit of light reading.

“And what exactly is it you happen to be looking for?” The short-tempered librarian snapped at him when he asked her for her help.  He glanced at the name on her lanyard, and attempted a smile.

“Well, Jeanette,” he answered, “I'm trying to find materials on the Knights Templar.”

She fixed him with a suspicious glare.  “An unusual subject.  Most of the information regarding the Knights Templar is theory, vague speculation and conspiracy, not actual facts.”

“I'll take anything I can find.” He supplied, hoping she would simply lead him to what he needed.  She gave him another skeptical glare, but said nothing and gestured for him to follow her, and set off at a brisk pace among the towering bookcases.  He had to trot to keep up with her, and in a few minutes, she had brought him to a shelf, and she yanked a short, thick book coated in dust from it.

“If you're wanting the generally accepted 'history' behind the Knights Templar, this should help you.” She said curtly.  “There are a few more materials in this section that might help you, but I would highly recommend you familiarize yourself with the Dewey decimal system from here on out, Mister Zeus.  Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.”

And with that, she swept past him with a frigid air.  He scowled after her.

“Yeesh.  She keeps that up, she's gonna be a cranky old dragon.” He grumbled, seeking out a table to read at.  Satisfied no one was going to bother him, he sat down and cracked the book open.  But it was less than fifteen minutes into his reading before he set the book down in white-faced fear, and charged out the doors, muttering a hasty apology to the librarians and fumbling his cell phone.  In seconds, he had it open, up to his ear, and dialing the number that had been given to him.  There were three rings, then the phone picked up.

“Ah, Master Incubus.” Came the calm, collected British accented voice.  “I trust that this isn't a social call for a pleasant chat?”

“Can you patch me through to Br—Bats?” He asked.  “I found something he may wanna know.”

“Right away, sir.”  Came the reply.  “One moment, please.”

For a long time, there was silence, and his heart began to pound anxiously as he sat on his motorcycle.  He started muttering nervously, praying that Batman would respond, drumming his fingers on the handlebars.  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a click and a grumble.

“Incubus.  Not a good time.” Came the growl.

“Bats, do you know a cop called Shakia Johnson?” He asked, and when there was no immediate reply, he continued.  “She's been assigned to the case with my sister.  And Batman?  I think this chick is a few cards short of a full deck; been looking into her a bit, and she's got some obsession with some legendary ghost story about some group of knights that there's a big conspiracy about.  Something with King Arthur, King Richard the Lion-heart, the Freemasons, and half the crap under the sun.  They're called the—“

“The Knights Templar.” Batman cut him off.  “I know.”

*****

His eyes slipped from The Dungeonmaster, who was still frozen with shock by his control panels, to the tall, sword-wielding woman who had burst into the room moments ago, and her eyes narrowed behind the domino mask on her dark face.  He watched her grip tighten on the hilt of her two-handed sword, and saw her upper body tense, ready to strike.  Incubus's voice filled with surprise.

“You do?” He asked.  “How?”

“Because I'm looking at one.” Batman responded coolly, tapping the radio receiver in his cowl twice, severing the connection.  “I don't know what you think you're doing, Miss Johnson,” he growled at the woman, “But officers with a higher rank then you have lost their badges for vigilantism.”

She flinched in shock.  “I don't know what you're talkin' about.” She mumbled.

“Give it up and drop the act.  You should be out there helping the commissioner and Detective Bullock.  I'm handling this.”

“Don't think so.” She answered coolly, shifting her head slightly in her white cowl, glaring at The Dungeonmaster.  “You're goin' down, Dungeon-dork.”

He fixed her with a cool look, straightening his posture and folding his hands behind his back.

“No, I don't believe so.”  He replied.

“Turn yourself in, Myers.” Batman said, his attention redirected back to the main problem at hand.  “You don't really have it in your heart to hurt anybody here.  If you turn yourself in, your sentencing will be easier.”

“You crazy?” The woman in the elegant armor shrieked, looking back at the Dark Knight.  “He'll just end up walkin' outta wherever he gets thrown!  I want a fight!”

“As riveting as it could be to sit here and see how cloak-and-dagger this discussion could become, I'm a bit too interested in a getaway.” The Dungeonmaster said with a lazy yawn.  A second too late, Batman realized what was happening.

“Get him away from that computer!” He roared at the armored woman.  But both were too late.  The floor beneath them erupted spectacularly and they were left to cover their heads from falling debris as a gigantic automaton reared up, towering over them all.  Batman glanced up, just in time to see the Dungeonmaster scramble up the side of the serpentine copper monster, latching himself into a saddle that was barely visible behind the robot's giant head plates.

“Behir, tactical retreat.” Gary ordered the automaton, and the creature reared back, crocodilian mouth opening in a metallic roar before it plunged back down the hole it had tunneled up through.  The floor rumbled and shook violently with its passing, and Batman lunged for the woman, snapping his arm around her stomach as he charged from the room.

“LET ME GO!” She screamed.  “HE'S GETTING AWAY!”

“The floor is collapsing!” He raised his voice.  “We're getting out of here!”

He raced to the stairwell as the floor started to fall away behind them, right for the large window beside the landing, and crashed through it just in time.  They began to fall, Shakia giving a yell of surprise, and he launched a grappling hook into the air.  It caught on the lip of a rooftop several yards away, and they swung up through the air, landing roughly on the roof.  Shakia rolled away from him a few feet with an angry grunt, and he turned back to the building, worried.

“Robin!” He shouted.  Half of the upper floor collapsed, and he caught a glimpse of a handful of figures running from the building on the ground floor.  He caught a flash of red, yellow and black, and let out a sigh of relief when the radio receiver in his cowl gave another click.

“Next time you're going to bring the house down, I want a little heads-up.” Robin declared.

Batman allowed himself a small smirk before turning back to Shakia and glaring.

“I woulda had him!” She growled, glaring up at him as she got to her feet.

“ _Wrong_.”  He shot back.  “You could have gotten both of us and everyone else in that building killed.   _What_ were you thinking?”

“You can't handle all of the crazies in this city by yourself, Batman.” She said coldly.  “I'm helping you.”

“You're reckless, headstrong, and untrained.” He snapped, jabbing his finger and pointing at her angrily.  “You're a liability to me, Miss Johnson.”

“Secret identity kind of comes with some implied right that you don't gossip about it.” She huffed.  “It's Lady Templar, Batman.”

He pulled a face under his mask.  This wasn't going to go well.

*****

Gary found that he was rather pleased with himself.  Even if he hadn't had the opportunity to watch the game finish, his signal had still broadcast so the message was out, and he had made a pretty decent getaway, and from the Batman no less!  He was doing quite well on his first criminal outing, if he did say so himself.  Still, he did hope that the others left behind were alright.  Hopefully Miss Ink wouldn't get any trouble from the police, and would also just keep the Phoenix Maiden costume as a reward for her help. The behir automaton raced through the sewer tunnels, headlight-eyes illuminating the path ahead.  Its parameters were set to find the nearest designated ally of Gary's, or at least the closest safe hiding spot, based upon all the cross-referenced data he had given the behir.  Hopefully that meant it would take him a decent distance away from the warehouse and Batman.

But something appeared to go wrong.

At one point there was a six-way junction in the sewer tunnels, and the behir paused, its crocodilian head swiveling rapidly from side to side.

“What's wrong?  Behir, parameter recall!” He ordered the automaton.  He hoped it wasn't malfunctioning.  He had just activated it a few days before however, and had forgotten to see if there were more bugs he had to work out of the robot's system.  But a second later, its head turned with a whirring sound, looking unerringly in the direction of the northwest tunnel, and shot off like a rocket.  He gripped the leather handholds built into the saddle tightly, keeping his head down and his mouth shut.  The last thing he wanted was a black eye or a chipped tooth.  Still, his glasses were taking a bit of a beating, the left lens already forming a decent sized crack in them, and he resolved he needed to work on better rider-shielding for the automaton if it was going to constantly think it was a motorcycle.

Minutes flew by, and suddenly the behir stopped beneath hinged grate.  It gave a low hum as it powered down, and Gary dismounted, curious.  Where had his automaton brought him?  He hopped from its back to a raised cement platform beneath the grate, and pushed up on the rusted metal.  The grating fell open with a loud bang and, wincing, Gary pulled himself up out of the sewer and onto the street above.  Once he had found his footing, he shook the stiffness from his muscles and kicked the grate back into place, turning to face the building he'd been brought to.

“Oh, no way.” He gasped when he saw half-rotting, half-beautiful old hotel.  He glanced around, not seeing anyone around, and with a great deal of trepidation, he approached a door with peeling paint and gently eased it open.  A dark hall lay beyond, and he adjusted his glasses nervously.

“Here goes nothing...” He muttered, venturing inside.  The place smelled of dust and mildew, years of filth having accumulated on different walls, wallpaper peeling and casting eerie shadows in the dim light of dying bulbs.  He felt like it would be the perfect location to hold a haunted house in...provided the place didn't collapse under too much weight, though.  He found his way into a main atrium, and glanced around, squinting in the low light and trying to see if he was alone.

“Hello?” He called out, voice echoing loudly across the high ceiling.  “Hello?”

A shot rang out, and a bullet bounced off the wall, cutting through the air a few feet away from him.  Eyes widening, he darted to the side as more bullets flew, and clambered over a desk counter, ducking down into a hidden cache.

“Don't know what you think you're doing here, jack, but I'm gonna make you think twice about busting into my place again.” A low voice growled.

“Well, lucky me!” He called back out, hoping he could talk his way out of this one. “My name's not Jack, so you don't have anything to worry about!  I'm not here bust the place down or anything, I'm just looking for a place to hide for a few hours from the Batman.”

“Batman?” The gravelly voice parroted.  “You bring him down on our heads, I'm not even going to stop and flip on whether or not I'm going to kill you.”

“He shouldn't be able to follow me.  Not right away.” Gary called out.  “I lost him when I rode here.  And I'm pretty sure that he didn't get a tracer on me.  So if you'll please stop shooting me...?”

There followed a tense silence, accompanied by the muffled sound of a weapon being stowed away.  Gary slowly got to his knees, then began to peek over the edge of the counter, looking around for some sign of the mysterious gunman.

A blur came out of nowhere and landed on the other side of the counter with a thud, making him jump.  The figure straightened out, unfurling two large, feathered, dark blue wings, flipping a messy mop of tangled black-and-silver hair.

“You're a few inches taller than I was expecting.” She said in a rough voice, grinning.

“You're a bit more _feathery_ than _any_ person should be expecting.” Gary retorted, blinking.

“Baby Bird tends to break most expectations anyone has.” Came the first gravelly voice, as footsteps thudded softly down a staircase.  “Part of why I like having her around.”

He looked up, stunned to find himself in the presence of Two-Face.  His jaw dropped.

“You keep your mouth open long enough, you might get a few sparrows nesting in there.” Wraith chortled, crossing her arms at him.  He snapped his mouth shut and turned around to frown at her.  Now that he took the time to look, she seemed somewhat familiar.  If he had to guess, she seemed about a handful of years younger than him, and he vaguely recalled something about a “Wraith” in semi-recent news.  But there was something else about her that was nagging at his memory.

“What is going on, priestess of Horus?” Another loud voice boomed, and a door slammed somewhere, followed by a thundering charge of feet from overhead.  Gary glanced back up at the stairs, craning his neck back to look up at an incredibly tanned man with a handsome face framed by ridiculously long hair and an Egyptian _nemes_ crown who was blinking down at him.

“What.” Gary blurted out, and the light clicked on in his head.  Suddenly he knew where he had seen the girl with the dyed hair and wings before.  She had been on the news with the Mummy idiot.

“What is the meaning of this?” Came a familiar shriek from somewhere even further off in the hotel.  “I'm trying on concentrate on applying my nail polish!”

Wraith immediately muttered something under her breath that Gary didn't quite catch and another door slammed, and a second face joined the Mummy's on the landing.

“Looks like you get double the usual welcoming committee.” Two-Face remarked.  Gary said nothing, as he blinked in shock at the newest arrival.  He knew her, alright.

“Cassandra Derricks?” He asked.  She had lost weight since high school.  Too much weight.  She squinted at him—her eyesight was probably just as terrible as it had been before—and gasped.

“Gary _Myers_?  What the hell are you _doing_ here?!  How did you find me?!”

“I didn't.” He answered honestly.  “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“Wait,” Wraith said slowly, her voice taking on a dangerous edge, “You two know each other?”

Gary glanced at her, feeling the temperature in the room drop.  If looks could kill...

“Yeah,” he answered warily, “We went to school together.  Middle school _and_ high school.”

“Sounds like you two have a bit of catching up to do.” Two-Face remarked.  Something in his voice gave off the impression that this 'reunion' wasn't going to be anything he had much of a choice in.

“If that's the case, count me _out_.  I don't feel like hanging around and listening to _any_ bullcrap the walking pixie stick and her 'friends' have to chat about.” Wraith snapped.  With a flourish and a whooshing of her wings, she spun on her heel and started heading down the hall that Gary had entered through.  He watched her progress, puzzled.

“Where are you going, priestess of Horus?” The Mummy called after her.

“To talk to someone semi-sane, Ram-ram!” She yelled back angrily, slamming the door.  Gary blinked again, readjusting his glasses.  He wasn't sure what he'd just walked into, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn't going to be pleasant to get stuck in.


	13. The Problem With Erin

Incubus made his way up to the top of the building, his reptilian tail swaying from side to side as he climbed, his mind wandering. He hadn't expected Batman to call him back so abruptly, and he was halfway back to the Zeus building when he had to spin his bike and pull a U-turn in the middle of an intersection. What exactly had happened, and why did Batman need him somewhere right away? On one hand, getting a summons like that from the Dark Knight was pretty awesome, but on the other hand it was kind of intimidating too. He scaled the wall with ease, hopping over the lip of the roof and landing lightly on his feet.

What he saw came as a bit of a surprise.

Batman's towering shadow waited expectantly, accompanied by Robin, though not the Robin Incubus used to know. And sitting on the roof between them was a rather angry black woman dressed like some sort of medieval knight.

“You certainly took your time.” Batman snapped.

“Nice to see you too, sunshine,” Incubus answered, intentionally taking a cheerful tone to be more annoying. “What's going on?”

At this, the woman looked up and glared at him darkly, fuming none-too-silently.

“This,” Batman said in a huff, “is your new partner, Lady Templar.”

Incubus blinked in stunned shock. “Wait, _what_?”

*****

Wraith stormed from the hideout, huffing and puffing as she made her way toward the Mad Tea House. Gradually, she allowed Guen to take over, the gentler personality taking care not to make a scene of her progress toward the place.

_The silver hair makes us stand out enough, we don't need to practically go charging through Gotham right now and getting caught._ She thought in irritation.

_Hey, we're wearing your old hoodie again._ Wraith thought back, but they both knew it was a weak argument. The hoodie was just a necessity to hide her hair and wings at that point and it did both poorly. Still, before long she arrived in front of the Mad Tea House, exhaling quietly and studying the hand-painted sign. Really, she had wanted to talk to Two-Face, to see if she could prompt Harvey to come out and listen to all this weird trouble with Magpie, but she doubted if she would get the chance with the blonde bimbo and her high school nerd-buddy playing catch-up. She hadn't been completely sure of what she was planning when she stormed out of there, but she had finally decided she might as well follow the idea she had mentioned to Ramsey, and thus she had arrived here.

_Oh please. Like we want a free pass to watch Erin and the Hatter just make out._ Wraith snorted.

Guen glanced in the windows at this, slightly paranoid, but relaxed when she realized there was no sign of Jervis Tetch anywhere in the shop.

_I'd rather try to worm this information out of Erin than anyone else._ Guen thought, breathing in and out to try to calm herself down. _She's the most likely to be honest out of all the other girls._

Bracing herself for anything, she reached out, grasped the door handle, and pushed it inward, setting the small bell overhead jingling merrily. The inside appeared to be deserted, despite the store still being open, but after a moment, she heard bustling and scurrying in the kitchen area behind the counter. Sure enough, before too long, Erin's familiar red mane of curls was a blur, trying to dash to the front of the store, muttering hasty apologies and babbling something about the store being closed or supposed to be locked up, but it was only when Guen walked up to her and blocked her progress that Erin stopped and seemed to register just who her 'customer' was.

“OH! Guen!” She cried, rushing forward and enveloping the younger girl in a hug before she could protest. “Oh this means so much, you coming to see me!”

“Y-yeah, yeah, yeah, Erin...c-can't breathe...crushing wings...”

“I thought you were never going to come back!” Erin sniffled, nearly on the verge of breaking into another sobbing fit like last time.

“Honestly!” Guen managed to say. “I knew I would have to!”

_Seriously._ Wraith grumbled in her head. _Nobody's got any faith in us._

Guen decided not to remark on that statement and instead struggled a bit violently in Erin's grip before she was able to free one of her wings and flex it slightly beneath the hoodie. Finally, Erin realized she needed some more space and pulled back, looking slightly shamefaced.

“Oh, sorry. I forgot about your wings.” She said apologetically.

“That makes one of us.”

“Come in, sit down, sit down.” Erin said hastily, moving to flip the sign from “open” to “closed” and close the blinds on the windows. “I'll pour you a cup of tea and we can talk.”

“Coffee will do fine, thank you Erin.” She replied coolly, hopping up on a counter stool. “You're not going to convert Wraith and I any time soon.”

“Well, it's always worth a try.” The older woman answered, pouting with her lower lip. “What brings you to the tea shop today? I thought you weren't allowed to leave Two-Face so often.”

“What, are you kidding? He doesn't mind that much. I think sometimes he actually gets annoyed by me, so he encourages it. At least, he says the coin is okay with it, so I assume that means he has to be.” She answered. “At any rate, I needed to come and see you. I needed—“

“A willing aural friend?” Erin suggested, bustling to get behind the counter and pour the coffee.

“Um...I was just going to say that I needed someone to talk to.” Guen replied, raising her eyebrows sharply. _That sounds like how Eddy would phrase something._ She thought, storing the information away later to analyze with Wraith. She watched carefully as Erin poured her a cappuccino, studying the older woman. She'd heard rumors that Erin had fallen into some depression when she was gone, that it had gotten to the extreme where Jervis had had to force-feed her, not that Guen could picture him having trouble with that. Erin would roll over like a fat, content dog if Jervis told her to. But now that Guen was able to get a good look at her, Erin hardly looked anything like a woman who had gone through a brief span of depression. If anything, she looked as healthy as she ought to, and in fact, she appeared to glow a bit.

“Why are you scowling like that, Guen?” Erin asked.

“Hmm...? I wasn't aware that I was scowling?” She answered, accepting the cup of cappuccino calmly. “Perhaps Wraith was trying to make faces. I was just watching you.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I suppose. Now what were you wanting to talk to me about?”

“I don't know, Erin. I think maybe I'm just being paranoid, but something's up with Magpie.”

Erin's eyes became the size of saucers and the carafe in her hands slipped and crashed to the floor, spilling cappuccino everywhere. Erin jumped, startled, and danced to avoid getting the coffee on her shoes and hastily scanned the counter for paper towels, swearing under her breath in Carroll-speak.

“Something _is_ going on with Magpie.” Guen said, raising her eyebrows.

“Nonsense, nonsense.” Erin said quickly. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Your reaction just now.”

“What reaction? I didn't react.”

“You dropped the carafe and looked like you'd seen a ghost. Well, me, in that case.”

“Oh...” Erin said slowly, looking incredibly guilt-ridden. “Yes, well...” She stooped to clean up the cappuccino and retrieve the carafe, patting paper towels against the floor. “About that...you see...Oh, Guen, don't scowl at me so!”

“Drop the act. And while you're at it, drop the semi-English accent. I'm getting an annoying amount of commentary about it from Wraith in the back of my head.” She huffed, wings puffing out.

“There's no need to be so rude.” Erin retorted in a pout, turning a hurt look on the younger girl. “It's not my fault, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, I _know_ the accent isn't your fault.”

“Oh, _Guen_!” Erin grumbled, throwing her hands up into the air. “You're an impossible harpy sometimes! Jervis is a fine, wonderful man—“

“Either you're totally brainwashed or there's a mind control chip on you somewhere.” Guen grumbled, rolling her eyes as she rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the counter. “Please don't make me try to find it and pull it off you, Erin. I don't even wanna _think_ about where Tetch may have slapped it onto you.”

Erin's jaw dropped and she started to stutter incoherently.

“Yes, Erin, _I went there_.” Guen huffed. “Now quit availing the virtues of your beloved and please get back to the topic at hand. What in the world is going on with Magpie?”

Erin went quiet again, pointedly looking away from her. It wasn't like her to clam up and not talk, Guen knew, so she had to have hit upon a rather sore subject. But she was not about to leave the tea shop without getting a few answers first. Erin continued to stare off at nothing for a few more minutes, opening and shutting her mouth awkwardly, as though unsure how to phrase something, and she automatically seemed to clean the already sparkling counter out of a sheer need to preoccupy herself as she tried to think of how best to approach the subject. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Guen, there's really no easy way to go about this, you know. Do you...well...I trust you are aware of Eddy's feelings toward you?” She said, her voice thick. Guen stiffened, her feathers puffing out as she tensed, feeling her gut twist uncomfortably. This was the last thing she had wanted this to be about. Her mind shot backwards at light speed, remembering the night of that fateful get-together sleep-over the girls had hosted, and Vanessa's confession about her feelings for Edward Nygma.

_Oh, God. Not this._

_We both knew it was a possibility, Pendragon..._ Wraith added uneasily, voice trailing off.

“You weren't exactly there inside Dorian's lab when he confessed to me.” Guen said slowly.

“Then...you do know that Vanessa—“

“Likes him. Yeah, I know. I haven't forgotten that stupid truth-or-dare game.”

“Well...when you...when you disappeared, Eddy was in an uproar, especially once he got your note. And that was when Vanessa finally realized he has feelings for you. And...she hasn't been taking it well since then. And I think sh-she was actually hoping you wouldn't come back.” Erin mumbled.

“Well, that's certainly one way to make a girl feel welcomed home.” Guen snorted. “Though I suppose this explains why she's been so cold and shut-off lately and keeps avoiding me.”

“You know, it's not exactly helping anyone that you won't tell us what _your_ feelings are.”

Guen opened her mouth to respond, and startled both of them when Wraith's voice answered.

“That's complicated, Knightly, and you know it.” Came the rough growl.

Erin's eyes went wide again and Guen slapped a hand over her mouth.

“S-sorry. I didn't—I mean...er, that wasn't me!” She said quickly, turning red.

“I could tell!” Erin said, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her long hair. “Wraith seems a bit sensitive about all of this.”

“We both are!” Guen retorted.

“There's no need to get snappy and defensive with me!” Erin huffed, looking hurt again. “I'm only trying to help you out! In any case, have you tried talking to Vanessa?”

The corners of the winged rogue's mouth turned down in an exaggerated frown, and she raised her eyebrows sharply. “Really? You're _really_ asking me that question?” She said dryly, drumming her fingers irritably against the counter's surface. Figuring she would get chewed out for that particular habit, she glanced down at Erin's hands, hoping to catch her acting no better.

There was a glint of light on Erin's left hand. She did a quick double-take.

At the base of Erin's left-hand ring finger, there was a polished gold band inlaid with several tiny diamonds, and at the top, there was set a much larger diamond that caught the light and looked simply too big to be allowed.

Guen's face shifted, and for a second, she simply looked thunderous. Then Wraith emerged.

“Knightly.” She declared slowly in a voice that was building to what would clearly be a spectacular eruption worthy of Mount Vesuvius, “What. The hell. Is that. On your hand.”

She had been speaking rhetorically, but with the way Erin's entire face lit up, you could tell she was all too eager to answer the question.

“Oh, _this_?” She said in a girlish giggle that had Wraith grinding her teeth together, holding the ring up to better display it and ignoring the way her younger friend leaned back as though she were holding a particularly large cockroach. “Why, it's an _engagement_ ring, Guen you silly thing!! I thought you knew. Jervis proposed to me!”

“Wraith, Knightly. Pendragon's given me the reigns right now.” She snapped. “And when the hell did this happen, exactly? Because clearly, we _didn't_ know.”

“Why it happened about a month...and a half ago.” Erin trailed off, realizing.

“Yeah. When I was still gone.” Wraith emphasized.

“Oh, that's right...I had forgotten about that. No _wonder_ you didn't know. You see, we were out together—”

“Gag me now.”

“Let me finish! We were at the Wonderland section of the Storybook park—”

“When _aren't_ you?”

“Let me finish! And we were talking about Lewis Carroll and the love aspects of his writing—“

“ _Sure_ you were.”

“Let me finish, Wraith! And then he got down on one knee and proposed.”

“You actually fell for that?”

“He was sincere and loving and called me his queen and for heaven's sake, he had a ring—“

“Which clearly has a mind-control chip in it or _something_. Not to mention, I doubt your precious Hatter has the means to legally pay for a rock like _that_.”

“You really are an insufferable harpy sometimes! Would you let me finish? Carroll help me, do you even have a single romantic bone in your body that you're willing to apply to anything other than Edward Nygma? It was a beautiful evening, early on in the twilight, and I was still worried over you and he managed to cheer me up and asked me out on a most wonderful date. First, we went to a restaurant out by the bay, to order some lobster—“

She fell silent when she finally registered the face her friend was making. Wraith had somehow caught her expression between her own incomprehensible rage and Guen's inner disgusted horror. She doubted however, that Erin knew how to read her expression properly.

“Wraith, are you alright? You look like you've got indigestion or something.”

“Yeah. Yeah, something like that.” She replied, pushing back from the counter and getting to her feet. “I just remembered, I have some errands to run for Papa Bear. Catch you later, Knightly.”

She launched herself through the door to the teashop before her redheaded friend could properly protest, not caring at that point if anyone recognized her with her hood down. She needed to find one of her other friends and shake them down and demand why they had allowed this to happen. She stormed through the streets of Gotham, hardly aware there was danger closer to her than she realized...

*****

Milo held his coffee thermos between shaking hands, staring down at the ground and trembling like a man awaiting the gallows. He had no idea what Dorian was planning, bringing someone with the reputation of Hugo Strange into this...'game' of theirs. Strange had nothing to gain from their personal vendetta with the Pendragon siblings, Logann Zeus, and Kirk Langstrom. Nor did he have anything to add to the situation to sweeten the pot. He simply seemed to be included in this as a sick joke on Dorian's part. He had been incredibly cryptic on the phone the one time Milo had spoken with him, except when he was direct enough to ask questions that made Milo squirm.

He took another sip of his coffee, racking his brain.

Dorian kept implying that he was getting closer and closer to finding Langstrom all the time. If Dorian found Langstrom, Milo had the feeling he would allow Langstrom to finally say the vocal command password to deactivate the neurochips in Zeus and the Pendragons. It would be just like Dorian to pull an underhanded move like that. He didn't need to order Lancelot around with some neurochip; Lance seemed to listen to him obediently anyway. And Langstrom had been against the vocal command tech in the first place, so he would be more than happy to free Logann Zeus, as well as the two Pendragon siblings.

If such a thing were allowed to happen, then Milo would lose his only hold over Guenhivyre.

He gave a rough, full-body shudder at the thought of her.

He still wanted her, after all these years. He blamed her wings for that, of course. But somewhere deep beneath the surface, there was still a tiny bit of his soul that felt disgusted with himself for everything that had happened up to that point. What he had done to her years ago, what had happened a little around three months ago, and what he still was hoping to do.

_I'm a sick monster._ He told himself, not for the first time. But no matter how many times he tried to face that truth, it wasn't going to change anything. He had been telling himself that for roughly twelve years, and so far, nothing had changed.

And it probably never would.

He thought again of what he was trying to plan. He remembered breaking into the Scarecrow's laboratory that one night, and he had stopped in a room to hide for a brief moment, only to find an assortment of dragon-themed items, all stolen, and all items he knew Guenhivyre had stolen. Immediately he had realized what it meant, and what she was trying to do, acquiring all the items. She was trying, albeit subconsciously, to remember her past, and a specific part of it, too. He _should_ know—after all, he still had the item in question she was trying to remember. And he could use that as leverage against her, to get her finally submit to him.

But that bedamned other personality of hers wouldn't fall for anything he would try to do to lure her to him! And he cursed himself for the umpteenth time for trying to suppress her raptor instincts with the drugs, for having practically created her Wraith personality. On her own, if he tried to leave a trail of bread crumbs leading to him, Guen might be suspicious but still fall for it. Wraith on the other hand, would ensure that she never fell for it.

“What I need is more leverage.” He whispered to himself aloud. “ _Different_ leverage, to lure her out regardless of her instincts. But that's not going to be easy. Wraith won't fall for a trap. But if I can force her to walk into something that she knows is a trap from the start...”

He withdrew a stylized 10-6 card from within his inside jacket pocket, scrutinizing it for a moment. Jervis Tetch, fool that he was, did not recognize Milo from the days they were both working at the Lion Research Institute. Jervis Tetch, the bumbling, nervous intern working on the vocal command recognition technology with the two senior scientists who had started developing it. Jervis, who for all his technological brilliance, was equally idiotic and gullible. It had been all too easy to manipulate him into helping tweak Guenhivyre's neurochip ramifications. And now he was still as idiotically brilliant as ever, and even more easily manipulated thanks to his equally idiotic girlfriend.

A cold smile played over Milo's features. Erin Knightly was _such_ a helpful woman. Perhaps if it weren't for her relationship with Tetch, she would be a bit more grounded in reality and less likely to slip up from lack of forethought. But as it was, Tetch had infected her with the weird Carroll obsession and that meant that she was also too easily to manipulate. He often amused himself with the thought that she might just hand over Guenhivyre to him if he asked nicely.

Abruptly his eyes went wide.

“Bingo!” He whispered to himself, grinning wider and darker than ever. Of course! The answer had been staring him in the face the entire time! _Erin_ was the key to getting Guen!

*****

Erin read the same line on her grocery list for the seventh time before she finally groaned in exasperation, shoulders sagging. Wraith's behavior earlier was still nagging at her, and it was harder to put it out of her mind than she hoped. Admittedly, perhaps she hadn't been too careful with phrasing herself when she was talking. It was entirely possible she had said something offensive without realizing it. But then again, she wasn't sure what she had said that was offensive specifically, and Wraith had not given any indication why she was upset. Then again, Jervis's mere existence seemed to offend her, which Erin found quite ridiculous. He had been nothing but an absolute gentleman to her and all of her friends right from the start, and there was nothing to hate in that.

Still, it definitely made it hard to concentrate on grocery shopping.

She passed through an aisle, resisting the urge to grab more boxes of tea—after all, she could always take some from the inventory at the teashop if she was running low, and she never ran low on tea if she had anything to say about it—and instead knelt to examine two different containers of sugar.

She was considering which one would be the better investment when her cell phone rang and she fished it out of her apron pocket, flipping it open and holding it to her ear.

“Hello?” She asked in her most pleasant, sweet voice.

“Erin, darling!”

“Jervis, my love!” She gasped, before giving an involuntary wince at the thought of Wraith mocking her standard greeting for the Englishman. She shook it off, then continued. “I'm out grocery shopping. Tell me, do we want Domino brand sugar, or Sweet Cane?”

“English Standard cane sugar.” He answered curtly, listing a different option altogether. “I'm afraid I'm running a tad late getting home today, Erin darling. You understand, of course?”

She frowned a little, chewing the inside of her lip.

“Oh...of-of course.” She answered unhappily. “You'll be alright, won't you? You'll be safe?”

“As safe as I can be.” He replied. “Why are saying this, Erin? You sound troubled, upset.”

“Oh, it's...it's nothing, Jervis. Just...Guen stopped by earlier today—“  
The silence over the phone suddenly took on a deadening weight. Erin fidgeted a little bit, swallowing over the sudden dryness in her throat and hurriedly continued.

“She stopped by because some of the rest of the girls are having problems and she just needed to vent to somebody who wasn't in on the drama.” She said.

“Ah, but of course she did.” He responded coldly.

“Listen Jervis, don't worry about it. Just...be home when you can, alright?”  
“Of course, Erin darling!!” He answered, suddenly much more jovial. A second later, the call disconnected. She glanced down at her cell, shaking her head unhappily. Even now, Jervis still seemed to act like Guen was always up to something.

_Well contrariwise, Wraith is always up to something while Guen is not._ She thought.

Still, he seemed a bit begrudging of Guen in a way that was different from the other girls, and Erin wasn't entirely sure why. She tried to put the issue from her mind as she worked on moving through the store, getting the few groceries she needed, and checking off a list of what she would have to come back and get later when she could have Jervis or one of her friends help her. It wouldn't do to dwell on such matters. Eventually Jervis and Guen would settle their differences. They would have to; Erin would not settle for bad blood between them.

“Not if I'm going to make her godmother of any of our children.” She declared quietly.

“What was that?” Asked a puzzled store clerk running the cash register where she pushed her cart. Erin shook her head, starting to throw the items in her little basket on the scanning belt to avoid answering the question. She hurried through the check-out and rushed out to the parking lot, eager to get back to her apartment. Since Jervis had gone quiet in the call, she had the strangest sensation of dread chills going up and down her spine, and she was eager to be back home and feel safe.

She was just fiddling with the car keys when a hand came down on her shoulder.

“Try to act natural, Miss Knightly.” Came a familiar voice, making her blood run cold. “Cooperate, and you and your fiancé will live to see your own wedding.”

The grip on her shoulder tightened and she let out a small whimper of fear.


	14. Little Talks

It wasn't necessarily unusual for the doors to the Iceberg Lounge to suddenly fly open in unspoken announcement of the arrival of the occasionally angry rogue.  Therefore, few people should have looked up and taken notice...except for the fact this was the middle of the day.  And the Lounge was supposed to be a nightclub.  The security was on it in a second, only to have the intruder literally walk right through their fingers and storm over to the bar, where Rav and May were busy making the place ready for the night shift, the latter entertaining a somewhat tipsy-looking girl wearing Uzis in gun holsters on her hips.

Akira, known better to the criminal underworld of Gotham as Banshee, wasn't one to spook easily.  But as she reached for the newly-mixed rum-shake that May passed her, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye and nearly fell off her stool, mixing several would-be swear words together and fumbling as she reached for the Uzi on her left hip.  A shadowy, dark figure was approaching them, like a living cloud of dead-gray fog, edges curling like misty wisps.  May glanced around and dropped the second glass she had been about to fill on the counter.  A second later there followed a ringing clash of sound, and the ghost-like figure vanished, shrinking down into a familiar young woman with an expression like a thunderhead.

“Wraith!” Banshee shrieked, pulling herself off the floor and jamming the Uzi back into its holster.  “Damn, don't do that to me, girl!  You scared me so bad, I nearly sh—“

“Akira, May!” Wraith snapped, cutting them both off from saying anything.  “What.  The.  Hell, you guys.  Does anyone want to explain to me whose bright idea it was to just okay Knightly getting engaged to Tetch while I was gone?  Or why the hell I'm just now hearing about it?”

Banshee glanced at Trick Deck with one eyebrow raised tentatively, her lips pursed, and Trick Deck picked up the glass she had fumbled before, pouring a smaller rum-shake before pushing it in Wraith's direction with a wary sigh.

“Honey, calm down.” She said in a voice both firm and sympathetic.  “I imagine you're just now hearing about it because Erin wanted to be the one to tell you in person.”

The winged girl didn't respond, but glared and snatched the rum-shake, methodically spinning it slowly clockwise, working her jaw and huffing.

“As for why we let it happen...” she went on, giving a helpless shrug, “Well, what were we supposed to do?  Lock Tetch up in a crate and throw him in a pit at the bottom of Joker's basement or something and then send Erin off to Timbuktu?”

“Yes.” Came the quick snap.

“ _How_?” May argued gently.  “Do you seriously think that if we all showed up in tanks or something, that it would deter Jervis from proposing to Erin?”

“It's better than standing by and just letting it happen!”

“Yo, I don't wanna be rude, hon,” Banshee interjected, “But Erin was pretty depressed for a while, y'know.  That proposal helped her a lot.”

Wraith exhaled through her nose like an angry bull, the feathers on her wings puffing out violently.  “Oh, and I suppose I'm going to yet again get another lecture about how it's _my_ fault that Erin went through that depression?” She snapped.  “Last I checked, I'm not to blame for Knightly getting that damned attached to anyone!  Yeah, she's my friend, but that doesn't mean that it's automatically my fault if she practically loses the will to live just because I go underground for a few months!  Besides, Tetch is a dangerous lunatic!”

“Oh, hon.” Trick Deck sighed, shaking her head.  “Sometimes you really need to think just a little straighter.  And really, Tetch is not any more of a dangerous lunatic than the rest of us, you know.”

At this, she bristled angrily, wings puffing up twice as much as before.  She couldn't say anything of course; it wasn't as though she could deny that the words 'dangerous lunatic' applied to almost every rogue she knew, including herself, to a fair degree.  Still, she doubted she would ever get any of the other girls to understand or see the way she in particular saw the Mad Hatter.  He was dangerous in a way the others did not really seem to give him credit for, and he had made her uneasy from the beginning.  Erin was too nice a person to have to marry him, and it irritated her.

She stared down at the rum-shake grumpily, continuing to tilt the glass around and around, watching the drink slosh about in a lazy sort of way.

_I shouldn't have to bite my tongue about this crap._ She thought angrily.

_Yeah...but it's hard to argue a point when we have to face facts._  Guen's mental voice interjected softly, faint and timid.  Her thought patterns had a somewhat ashamed feel to them, which only made Wraith angrier.  Immediately she tried to shut her own thoughts down, and with a bit of a shock, Guen found she was once more in control of her own body, her second personality submerging bitterly.  She gave a small jump in her seat and quickly pushed the alcoholic drink away before she could smell it.

“You okay, girl?” Banshee asked.

“F-fine, Akira.” She answered, before shaking her head.  “Sorry no, that's not right.  I'm not sure what I am right now.  I guess my feelings are a little...conflicted.”

“Oh, Guen!” May exclaimed.  “You switched!”

“Yeah, I didn't have much of a choice.” She answered with a wince.  “Sorry about that.  Wraith's not happy right now.”

“Wait, did she just kick you _into_ control?” Banshee spat, jaw dropping.  “That's—“

“Crazy?” Guen suggested.  “Getting used to that.  It's almost normal now.  Sorry girls, I've gotta go.  I need to go talk to someone else about some _thing_ else entirely.”

*****

Rook studied the pack of cards laid out before him, thinking intently.  After all, if he wanted to beat Trick Deck at her own game one of these days, he had to practice like his life depended on it.  He stubbornly ignored Edward's smart remarks from where he sat, drafting up riddles or something.  He was pondering Markowitz's poker strategy from the last time they had played, when there suddenly came an insistent tap at his shoulder.  He tried to wave the hand away.

“I said shove it, Riddly.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Ugh, rude!” Said a female voice.  He froze, then spun around on his chair, stunned to find himself looking into a pair of familiar dark green eyes framed by black-and-silver hair.

“Whoa!  Guen?”

“Props for guessing the personality accurately.” She said with a small smile.  “Is Ness around?”

“Loch Ness Monster?” He snorted.  “Don't think so.  She ditched I don't know how long ago and hasn't checked back in yet.  Not that she won't; Vanessa can't quit this syndicate any more than she can stop breathing.  Nah, she's probably just off sulking or something.  Why?”

Guen let out a ragged, tired groan.  “Because I just recently found out why she's been cold-shouldering me, and I need to talk to her about it.” She replied.  “You know, hash the whole thing out and whatnot so she can start talking to me again.”

Rook fought to control the expression on his face.  He had the feeling he didn't want her finding out he had known about Magpie's issues with her and Edward the whole time.

“Friendship is over-rated these days,” he offered casually, “but if you wanna stick around, I can teach you how to play strip poker while you wait for Magpie to drag her sorry self back here.”

“Har har,” she muttered sarcastically, “No, thanks.  If I've told you once, I've told you a dozen times.  Not interested, Robert.”

“You know, sometimes you sound like your brother.”

“ _Which_ brother?”

“Lance.”  He answered mildly, tapping a card against the edge of the table.  “He _always_ calls me by my first name.  Kind of annoying, actually.”

She offered him a wry smile.  “Well, I _am_ a Pendragon.  Just consider it one of the perks of being my brother's friend.  You get an annoying tacked-on little sister to go with it.  Now if you don't mind, I think I'd better go look for h—“

“Guen?” A voice asked, hoarse with emotion.  They both turned around, eyes going wide at the side of the Riddler, ripping off his green domino mask as he blinked glassy blue eyes at Guen.  She stood stock-still, looking rather like a deer caught in headlights, her carefully folded wings puffing to twice their usual size behind her back as her face flushed.

“Eddy.” She murmured, fidgeting a little nervously.  “H-hi.”

He glared at her, clenching his mask in his fist.

“You aren't going anywhere, Guenhivyre.”

“Could have fooled me,” she answered with a weak grin, “Last I checked, I'm a free woman.”

“Oh, no you don't!” Edward snapped, striding across the room and getting up in her face.  “I have been waiting to talk to you since you resurfaced.  You aren't going anywhere.”

She fell silent, studying his face, finally realizing the pain his anger was masking and her shoulders sagged in resigned weariness.

“Can I get you crazy kids anything?” Rook interrupted innocently.  “Wine, snacks, protection?”

*****

Ragdoll wasn't one to usually question his luck.  After all, he was naturally more lucky than half the east coast, so what was there to question?  Sometimes he'd get a speed bump of a jinx, but generally he stayed lucky.

But when he was busy staking out a potential target for a steal and realized that Batman was not even ten rooftops away, he wondered if perhaps bad luck applied to his luckiness as well.  When it turned out that Batman had Robin, Incubus, and an angry woman in chain-mail with him, it took a little self-convincing that he was just imagining things.

And then the woman in chain-mail had broken free from some restraints while Batman was talking with Incubus, and without warning she began to charge, vaulting herself across the gap in the rooftops and heading right for him.

“OH.” Ragdoll squeaked aloud, before promptly jumping from the roof to the next one.

He had never had a streak of _bad_ luck before.  He wasn't quite sure he wanted it to begin with an armored woman chasing him down to beat him senseless.  He ran as fast as his spindly legs could carry him, risking a quick glance back over his shoulder.  Nope.  Nope, she was still after him.  And to make matters worse, now Batman was chasing right behind her.

“Oh, peachy.” He muttered, turning away and putting on another burst of speed.  This just wasn't going to be his day, he could tell.  He jumped and spun around in the air, vaulting over the edge of the roof and latching onto a drain pipe.  He slammed into the pipe pretty hard, the pain rattling in his chest as he loosened his grip and began to slide down, chafing the insides of his legs something horrid.

“Raggy, you've got to get another hobby.” He muttered to himself.  “This one's getting too bothersome.”

He was just able to hop off the pipe and feel his feet hit the ground when there was a small clamor on the roof above, and he glanced up, not surprised to see the woman and Robin both looking down at him.  He offered up a cheeky grin and a wave.

“Toodles, kiddies!” He called, before turning and running down the streets between the buildings as fast as he could.  There was an indistinct shout, and a rush of air.  Reacting on instinct, he slid to the side at the last moment before Robin could crash into him with a flying kick.  The boy spun as he hit the ground, mask narrowing as he glared.  Ragdoll took two sliding steps backward, tensing.  The trouble with Bat-brats was that no matter how much younger they seemed to be getting, that only made them all the more dangerous and irritating.

“Not so fast.” Robin said slowly, a small smile working its way onto his face.  “I'm going to need to see your roof-loitering permit.”

The quips.  Always with the quips.  But hey, he was good at that game.

He quickly patted down his suit, then smiled and shrugged.

“Whoops.” He replied.  “Seem to have left it in my other pants.  Now if you don't mind...”

Something hit the ground behind him with a shaking impact.  He gulped and resisted the urge to look; he had a pretty good feeling he knew what he was going to find.

“Where you think you're goin', Ragdoll?” The woman growled.

There was something about the way she said his name that didn't sound so much like a formal address as much as it made him sound like a well-chewed dog toy that was about to be destroyed.  He glanced to his left, then his right.  The right seemed like a better option.  He just had to hope his luck would hold out.

Thankfully, it did, as always.  The big knight-woman lunged and wrapped her arms across his chest, hauling him off the ground.  But she, like so many others before her, had made the mistake of not holding him tightly enough and he slipped free with ease, then took off running before she had time to fully register what was happening.  She and Robin both shouted after him and he darted down another road, then another.  He could hear them running, and for an instant, he wondered if Batman was just going to swoop down and snatch him off the ground before they could catch up.

A hand seized the back of his costume and he was yanked backwards with a yelp.

“Stuff it, Yank!” A familiar English voice hissed in his ear.  “Come on!”

He relaxed partially, allowing Magpie to drag him into a nearby building, where she quickly made her way toward the lower levels of the place.

“Thanks for the save, precious,” he gasped, trying to get his heartbeat to slow down from how fast it was going, “Though this is hardly my ideal spot for a date.”

She gave a snort as they found the basement level, but gave no further response.  Instead, she darted around, clearly trying to find something.  Ragdoll hung back for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to see if there was anyone in pursuit yet.  When he was satisfied they were safe, at least for the moment, he turned back to watch her, curious.  She was looking for an escape, he realized, probably a hidden one.

“Need a hand?”

“No.” She answered stubbornly before turning to an old fireplace, overrun with dust and ashes that had never been properly cleaned.  To his surprise, she pulled the grating out, revealing a hole cut deep into the floor and he whistled, impressed.

“That's our escape?” He asked.

“You wanna stick around and get collared by the Bat?”

“Maybe another time.  Not every day I get to relive a Goonies scene.”  He hopped down the opening, landing with ease in a dank, well-worn tunnel before turning back and looking up at Magpie.  She edged into the fireplace, dragging the grating and nest for the logs back into place as best she could.  Ragdoll stood under her, and with a quick “Hey!” to get her attention, indicated she could stand on his hands.  She complied readily, and he buckled slightly under her weight as she pulled the grate back over the opening.  Just when he thought his arms were going to collapse, she hissed for him to lower her and he set her down as gently as he could manage.

“Come on!” She whispered, grabbing his hand and pulling him along the tunnel.  She pulled a glowstick from her pocket, hitting it against her leg with a few satisfying cracking sounds, and their path was illuminated by a soft pink light.  “That's better.”

“Indeed.” He remarked.  “Pick that little thing up at a rave or something last night?”

“Psh, no.” She snorted.  “Riddler keeps stashes of these at one of his hideouts.”

“Riddly raves?” He asked, mildly interested.  “I never knew.  I'll have to ask him what places he normally haunts.  It'd be funny if we ran into each other raving.”

She tossed him a somewhat annoyed look that clearly said “My boss wouldn't go to a rave in a million years and you know it,” but there was something about the way her mouth quirked at the corners that belied her supposed irritation.  She was hiding a smile, if he knew anything about her, and that was probably why he enjoyed being around her.  Vanessa Cook had a very natural, beautiful smile, the sort you could never really imitate or even try to capture in art of any form.

The only trouble was that he rarely got to see her true smile.

“So, did you get your issues with Miss Pendragon worked out at all?” He asked.  At once she jerked uncomfortably, and for a moment, she let go of his hand.  He stuck out his lower lip in a pout at that, and a moment later, she tentatively took his hand again and resumed walking.

“Not as such, no.” She answered.  “I've not really had an opportunity to talk to her.”

“A-voi-ding your friend?” He prodded, letting his voice slip into singsong.  “That-won't-help-youuu...”

“I know it won't!” She exhaled a ragged sigh, shoulders sagging.  “But what am I even supposed to say to her now?  She probably hates me.”

“I doubt that.” Ragdoll offered.  “It's hard not to like you.”

She gave him that look again, the one that was offset by the way she tried not to smile, and a thought occurred to him.

“On another note,” he said cautiously, “How are you liking the pearls, sweetheart?”

“They're gorgeous of course,” Magpie answered, “Though it's not like I can just wear them out while I'm in my uniform.  They'd attract a bit of attention.”

“Of course, of course.”

“How did you come by those pearls, sir?”

“That's a bit of a long story, my little English crumpet.”

“This is a pretty long tunnel, my fine Yankee pretzel.”

He grinned.  “Well, you see, I had been on my way to just take a little stroll—you know, walk around the park, possibly grab a hot dog and then maybe a wallet or two—when suddenly...”

*****

They strode through cold alleyways, wearing heavy coats to better hide their identities at a distance and keep out the damp chill that was always in the air in the back streets of the city.  For a long while, neither of them spoke or looked at one another.  The tension in the air was thick between them, and Guen had a feeling that she wouldn't be able to think of anything to say before Edward spoke first.

“Why did you leave?” He asked.

_Called that one,_ she thought wryly.  Aloud she answered, “Because I had to.  It was part of the arrangement.  If I wanted training and protection, I needed to go with Dent.  He wouldn't have it otherwise, and frankly, I didn't want it otherwise myself.”

“Why?”

“Because, if I had to try to split my time between learning the ropes of the mob boss schtick from him and still try to live at home with my mother and Logann, I would never be able to convince anyone that I was going straight.   Nobody would have bought it, and Logann would only have figured it out faster than Batman because we'd be living in the same home.  It wouldn't have worked out.”

“Why didn't you say anything to anyone?”

“The girls talk, Ed.  You know that.  If I told anyone, they would have told Erin to keep her calmed down, and then she wouldn't be able to keep quiet about it if anyone else asked her.  Batman would have tracked me down in a heartbeat and just thrown me directly into Arkham.”

He stopped walking for a moment, and she got a few feet ahead of him before she realized he was no longer beside her.  She stopped, looking back at the hurt expression on his face, and felt her stomach clench in guilt.

“Why didn't you at least tell _me_?” He asked softly.  “I thought I was more important to you than that.  Guen, I thought we—that we...”

“I wanted to, believe me, Ed.” She answered.  “But I wasn't going to just tell you and not anyone else.  It wouldn't have been fair.  To anyone.”

“So it's better to hurt me then, after I told you how I...how I feel about you?”

She winced at the accusation, but steeled herself.  It was time to broach the real subject she had been wanting to talk to him about.  Shutting her eyes, she inhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders, and exhaled, looking him in those blue eyes that always set her heart fluttering.

“Edward, you and I need to talk about that.” She said as firmly as she could manage.  “Our feelings for one another, they...they've caused me a problem that I didn't know was a problem.  Vanessa, she—I don't know how to say this, but Ed, she likes you.  She _has_ liked you for a long time.”

His eyes widened for a moment, but then he looked away in embarrassed guilt.

“I suspected as much.” He mumbled.  “She always did strike me as trying to get me to...notice her, I suppose, ever since we met.  I've never been sure why.  I always assumed it was because her former partner in England was...met with some misfortune, and that she was trying to latch on to me moreso than she should have, as a result of trying to deal with her emotional turmoil.”

Guen raised her eyebrows, sucking in a silent gasp.  Magpie had a different partner before moving to Gotham?  She never knew.  She had never even guessed.  What had happened to her partner?

“Ed, if you knew that—“

“It doesn't make a difference.” He cut her off quickly.  “I don't love Vanessa.  I care for her as a friend, as much as I do Rook.  But I don't have romantic feelings for her.  I never have, I never will.  And I have never led her on in that regard.”

“I don't care whether or not you did or didn't—or think you didn't.  The fact of the matter is that she told me and the other girls about her feelings for you that night when we had the slumber party, and I wasn't honest with her about the fact I was trying to work out my own feelings for you, and now that you apparently went crazy—“

“I resent that.” He threw in.

“—after getting my note, just trying to find me, she's pissed at me.”

He heaved a shaky sigh, crossing his arms before scowling at her.  “And what, are you saying that her behavior is _my_ fault?” He demanded.  “Given the opportunity to do that over, Guen, I would not act any differently.  I wasn't about to just give up the chance to find you, and damned if I was going to let anything get in my way!”

She flinched back, stunned.  She had rarely seen him this adamant about something, and it frightened her.  She had always advocated the notion that Edward Nygma was not truly as insane as the rest of the Arkhamites, but the look he had in his eye, the way he talked about letting nothing get in the way of finding her...it caused her to wonder.  He didn't sound like himself at all.  He sounded like...

_Like Milo._ She thought, her heart sinking into her stomach in worry and fear.

But then a heartbeat later, her fears were washed away as the anger left Edward's face and was replaced by tender concern.  He murmured her name and rushed forward, pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly against him.

“Guen, please...I'm sorry if I frightened you.  But when I thought I'd lost you, I was so desperate to get you back.  I was ready to do anything, by any means necessary.  Please, Guen.  I lo—“

She pressed a hand against his mouth, smiling up at him sadly.  “Thank you, Eddie.  Thank you.  And _I_ love _you_.  But right now...I should probably go find Vanessa and talk to her.  Whatever is going on between everyone at the moment, I need to patch things up with her.  She's still my friend, and my ally as well, and Dent—“

“Oh, yes.” He rolled his eyes, letting go of her and crossing his arms over his chest.  “Papa Bear Dent.  I can just imagine all his riveting speeches about the importance of _multiple_ allies.”

“That wasn't what I was going to say.” She snorted.  “I was going to ask if you would go see Ink and Jonathan about possibly having supper tonight, just the four of us, and if you'd wait for me there, while I check up with Dent.  And incidentally, how did you know about the 'Papa Bear' thing?”

“Like you said earlier,” he answered with a small smile, “The girls tend to talk.”

*****

Jervis turned his pocketwatch over and over in his hands, eyes haunted and staring at nothing.  He had never thought he would ever receive a threatening message on the phone that would terrify him.

And now?

Now the woman he loved was in eminent danger.  And he was powerless to help her.

_“I'm so sorry to ruin your lovely evening, Tetch my friend, but don't expect your sweet fiancée to be at your apartment when you get home tonight.  Don't worry, she's quite comfortable, and in good hands.  Rest assured, I'll be taking care of her...for now.  Oh, and if you are weighing the options between coming after me like a white knight or submitting to the ransom demand I no doubt have, I'd recommend you try the ransom.  Not that I'm telling you what it is.  But don't worry, Tetch.  You're a smart boy.  I'm sure you'll figure out what it is I want.”_

That was the voice mail waiting for him on the phone.  Terrified, he had rushed to Erin's apartment as twilight fell, and found it empty, and her car gone.  And the speaker's voice had been garbled, distorted, and he wasn't sure who in the world had taken her.  But she was gone, and he had to wrack his brains to think of what to do.

He couldn't go to anyone, either.  If more people got involved, it would only make things worse.

“I'm late,” he muttered under his breath, pacing rapidly, “Late, late, late...”

But surely had to do something!  If only he wasn't in this mess...

No.

No, this was not his fault.

The answer came with such clarity he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

This entire thing was Miss Pendragon's fault!

Hadn't Erin mentioned in her last call to him that she had been talking to Pendragon before she left for the store?  If she hadn't been, she likely would have gotten to the store earlier in the day or something and he could have gone with her, or she wouldn't have been kidnapped at the very least!

Snarling in fury, Jervis left the apartment, snatching the ax of the Queen of Hearts from where he had hidden it above Erin's assigned space in the parking garage.  She likely had never noticed it there after he had stashed it in case of...well, situations like this one, or if she had seen it, she never mentioned it to him.

All he needed to do now was find Guenhivyre Pendragon.

It was time she atoned for her sins.

Of course...finding her was a different matter altogether.  Jervis hadn't the faintest idea where the winged tramp spent her free time, apart from the times when she plagued the tea shop or hung around with Trick Deck and the rest of Erin's friends at the Lounge.  He supposed he could always check with Jonathan and Ink, but he didn't have enough time to go all the way out to Jonathan's lab and ask them if she was skulking about.  Instead, he went to the Lounge and started to ask around, to see who had seen Pendragon last.  He was in luck, as one of the bartenders, a young Indian man, mentioned she had stopped by earlier in the evening.  From there, she had disappeared, but he was just leaving the Lounge when he ran into Vanessa Cook, accompanied by a man he only barely recognized.

“Whoa, settle down, Jerv!” Vanessa said as he tried to rush past.  “Where's the fire?”

“Nothing, nothing, nothing!” He answered quickly.  “Have you seen Miss Pendragon?”

“Why are you toting around that ax?” She asked warily.

“How did you even get that ax _in_ here?” The man added, and his voice revealed him to be Ragdoll, simply out of his costume.

“ _That's not important right now_!” Jervis hissed, starting to shake.  “This is urgent!”

“Urgent?” She echoed.  “Tetch, is everything alright?  You're being loony, even for you.”

“She's probably off trying to suck Eddie Nygma's soul out of his mouth,” Ragdoll answered, giving a quick shrug, “If I were you, I'd try North Maple street.  Ed's mentioned she likes taking that particular sidewalk home before.”

Vanessa turned and gaped at him, and before they could continue to interrogate him, Jervis was out the double doors of the Lounge and heading out to find Guenhivyre Pendragon, sticking to the darker alleyways of the city.  Normally he wouldn't have bothered, but if his fellow Arkhamites were going to interrogate him about the ax, he didn't need others doing the same.

He didn't have far to go.  He was more than a block way from North Maple when he spotted her, walking along the opposite side of the road, near a public park that had shut down for the night, moving in the darkness cast by the trees as the night grew darker.  Snarling, Jervis crossed when he was certain no one was around to see, and quietly began to tail the winged girl.  Thankfully his shoes made no noise in the soft grass, and he picked up the pace, drawing closer and closer.

Abruptly, Pendragon slowed down, and her wings shifted under her hoodie.

She was onto him, he was sure of it!  It was now or never!

Just as she shifted, about to turn around, he slammed the butt end of the ax's shaft into her back, and she lost her balance, letting out a small cry of pain and fear.  She began to spin in place, and he swung the end up sharply, striking her across her chin and jaw.  She roared in pain and he pulled the ax back, raising it high over his head.

“And now, Pendragon, you winged bandersnatch...” He growled, “You will atone for your crimes against the Mad Hatter!  The Queen has spoken!”

He raised the ax higher, moonlight winking off the blade as she glared up at him.

“ _AND IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD_.”


	15. Imminent Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precursor to the bad shit.

Darkness fell over Gotham as night began, a low rumble of ominous thunder in the distance.  A solitary face appeared in a grimy window of an old, run-down building, staring out at the sky.  The building had been a drug laboratory once, a small one.  Now it was all but abandoned, falling into disrepair and coated in dust and mold.

The figure stayed at the window for a while, glancing up and down the stretch of road before the lab, before turning away, swearing angrily.

“A watched pot never boils!” An angry, indignant voice spoke up, about as lecturing as a schoolteacher to a child who didn't care to listen.

Milo turned on his heel and bared his teeth at Erin Knightly.

“Oh, _shut up_.” He spat.  “You're as annoying as Tetch.”

“I won't tolerate such talk about my fiancé, sir!” She snapped.

“Oh, _really_?” He sneered back at her.  “That's pretty tough talk...for a Disney freaking princess tied up to chair with duct tape.”

Her face colored with indignant rage and she flipped her hair awkwardly as she stuck her nose into the air at him.  “I'd watch it if I were you, sir.  Disney women are stronger than you think.  Especially the Wonderlandian ones.” She declared coolly.

“Yeah, okay, Princess _Ariel_.” He snorted.  “Let us not forget who's been the most helpful little person to me since I've returned to Gotham and started looking into my Guenhivyre again.”

The color faded from Erin's cheeks as she reeled like she'd been struck, and she bowed her head, fighting the urge to cry.  The last thing she needed right at that moment was reminding of her indirect involvement in Milo nearly hurting her best friend.  She had been taken hostage, tied to a chair, and was awaiting the arrival from Jervis...which was just as likely not to happen.  Milo hadn't told Jervis that he wanted Guen in exchange for her, and Erin feared that her fiancé would not know what to do.  He didn't even have a clue where she was being held!  In truth, she wanted to sob her eyes out.

“Don't worry, Miss Knightly.  This'll all be over soon.” Milo said, walking to the window again and crossing his arms impatiently.  “Once that incompetent gets here with Guenhivyre.”

“What do you even want with her?” Erin murmured softly, still fighting tears.

Milo twisted where he stood, eyes blazing.  “Control, Miss Knightly.  Control.”

“Control...?” She echoed.  “I...I was given to the impression that you—“

“Loved Guenhivyre?” He cut her off and she fell silent.  “Once, I did. When I was younger and so was she.  Maybe there is a part of that time that still lingers in me.”

Erin looked up, a spark of hope in her chest.  Milo actually loved Guen?  He was certainly going about it in the wrong way, but if he loved her, then there was still a chance she could talk him out of this nonsense.  Surely a man in love with her best friend would listen to reason!

“Well, then...Milo,” she said, “Perhaps...perhaps if you just tried to talk to Guen—“

“No.” He said curtly.  “I am done trying to reason with her.  I hate her.  In fact, I think I hate her almost more than I ever loved her.”

The hope that had ignited in Erin's heart sputtered, a candle in a high wind, and her shoulders sank in despair.

“But I will have what is mine, Miss Knightly.” He continued coldly.  “Control is what I want, and control is what I'm going to get.  That little winged bitch is going to respect me yet.”

*****

“And now Pendragon, you winged bandersnatch, you will atone for your crimes against the Mad Hatter!”

Her first thought as she looked up was simply, _Aw, crap!_

“The Queen has spoken,” Jervis hissed, a wild, dangerous gleam in his eyes, raising the ax high above him, “ _AND IT'S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!_ ”

In a second, Wraith had switched back with Guen, sensing her choking fear, and glared up at Jervis.  A quick glance at the wild look in his eyes was all she needed, and suddenly she was hit with a bit of inspiration, and followed it on a whim, starting to chuckle.  As expected, Jervis paused before he started to swing the ax, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Are you going to kill me, Tetch?” She asked, her tone mocking.  He glared back, his grip on the ax going white-knuckled, and she continued with a dry laugh.  “Are you really going to do that to Erin?  You saw how it affected her when I just... _disappeared_.  Heck, from what I understand, you lived through it, didn't you?  How do you think she'll react when she finds me _dead_?  Or when the truth gets out that her beloved  fiancé killed me?  And don't think that she won't find out, Tetch.  No matter how hard you may try to hide evidence, the truth will out.  It always does.  And then you'd lose Erin.”

He bared his teeth in a snarl, but she noticed a small waver in his arms.  Then, a moment later, he lowered the ax slowly to his side, looking furious but resigned.  Wraith grinned in smug triumph; she had won.

“Curse you, Pendragon!” He muttered angrily.

“I have a feeling I'm going to hear you say that a lot more in the future.”

“Oh, indubitably!” Jervis spat.  “It is _your_ fault my beloved Erin is in this quagmire!”

Wraith's insides went cold without warning, an icy block forming in her stomach, and she sensed Guen start to squirm uncomfortably in the back of her mind.  She got to her feet with a scowl, retrieving her scythe handle from a pocket, squeezing it for reassurance.

“Okay, Tetch, two things,” she said, taking a deep breath, “First, nobody in America uses the word 'quagmire' anymore.  Second, what's wrong with Erin?  What happened?”

“Are you telling me you _don't_ already know?”

“Why would I bother asking if I knew?”

“Oh, don't you start that little song-and-dance with me, you puffed-up dodo bird!  You're a liar and a thief and a foul bandersnatch!”

“Oh, hi Kettle, name's Pot, have we met?” Wraith muttered, crossing her arms.

“You could just as easily be lying to me to try to get more information.”

“Tetch, seriously?  Would you listen to yourself for a second?  You're sounding more screw-loose than usual.  Look, just tell me what happened.  If I don't know, then I can't help, understand?”

He sucked in a breath violently, eyes narrowing as he tried to regulate his breathing.

_Wraith, I've got a really bad feeling about this,_ Guen's voice spoke to her, worried and wavering, _I don't think either of us has ever seen Jervis like this before.  He's really pissed.  Something's happened to Erin!_

“Erin's been kidnapped.” Jervis said in a tight voice, and she stiffened out of instinct as he continued.  “I don't know who took her or what they want as a ransom; I was left a cryptic voicemail.”

“Let me hear it.” She insisted, thrusting out her open hand and making grabbing motions.  He gave her a cold glare, but relented in the end, pulling out his phone, opening the voicemail function, and pressing a button before setting the phone into Wraith's palm.  She brought the cell up to her ear and listened closely.

“ _I'm so sorry to ruin your lovely evening, Tetch my friend, but don't expect your sweet fiancée to be at your apartment when you get home tonight._ ” An oily-smooth voice spoke over the phone, and chills instantly ran down her spine.  She knew that voice; she knew it much better than she wanted to.  The message continued, “ _Don't worry, she's quite comfortable, and in good hands.  Rest assured, I'll be taking care of her...for now.  Oh, and if you are weighing the options between coming after me like a white knight or submitting to the ransom demand I no doubt have, I'd recommend you try the ransom.  Not that I'm telling you what it is.  But don't worry, Tetch.  You're a smart boy.  I'm sure you'll figure out what it is I want._ ”

Quietly, Wraith let out a small snarl.   _You know what his ransom demand is going to be, right, Guen?_

 _Yes, I know._ Her mental voice returned, low and timid.  Glaring down at the phone for a moment, Wraith felt her blood begin to boil, and finally thrust the phone back to Jervis, wishing she had something to break at that moment.

“You seriously don't recognize that voice, Tetch?” She grumbled.  “It's Milo.”

His eyebrows raised sharply, his face darkening as he yanked the phone back.  “Milo?” He repeated in a poisonous voice.  “Your incorrigible stalker is behind the kidnapping of my beloved Erin?  She has been dragged into _your_ problems!”

“That's what happens when people become friends with each other, Tetch.” She snapped.  “Pull it together!  Think for a second; this is meant to be a trap for me.  Can't say that Milo's too bright, not telling you _I'm_ the ransom demand and just expecting you wouldn't kill me or anything.”

He went silent, his blue eyes glittering in a way she didn't like, but she pressed on, hoping against hope that for once he would listen to reason.

_Snowball's chance in Hell of that._ Guen muttered in the back of her mind.

“Listen for a second, okay?” Wraith said with a ragged sigh, willing herself to stay calm.  It was barely working.  “Milo did this intentionally; he knew that if I found out Erin had been kidnapped, I would try to do something about it.  Hell, he was probably hoping that I wouldn't find out it was him, because then I would know it's meant to be a trap.  But maybe we can do something about all of this.”

He continued to glare at her for a long moment, and her heart hammered in fear.

“Very well then,” he finally said, “What do you propose we do?”

*****

They were lucky, Wraith later came to think, that Trick Deck was able to recall quite easily where she and Magpie had run into Milo the first time.  She had a feeling he would return to some place with a familiar layout, some place he had access to a lab, and she had hoped that it was the same place where the other girls had run into him.  She wasn't sure she would be able to find her way back to the other laboratory, the one Tygrus had taken her to, where she had met Dorian, and she wasn't sure she wanted to go back there anyway.  And from the looks of things, they were in luck; the old Daggett lab had a light on in one of the windows.

“This had better be right, Miss Pendragon.” Came a venomous mutter from nearby as they drew closer to the building.  Her gut squirmed uneasily, and she thanked whatever cosmic entity was listening that Jervis had ditched the ax.  “If anything befalls my Erin...”

“Yeah, yeah,” She muttered, “Off with my head.  I know.”

_I still don't think this is a good idea,_ Guen thought timidly, and Wraith fought the urge to argue with her other personality.  She didn't like the whole thing either, but they both had agreed they couldn't just abandon Erin, especially not to Milo.  And really, what else could she do at this point?

_I think I should be in control._

The thought was abrupt and took Wraith by surprise.

_Guen, what in the world are you talking about?_  She thought back, trying to avoid panic.

_I mean, if we go charging in there and you're in control, Milo's going to know immediately, and he might not be as cooperative._  Came the nervous reply.   _We can switch back the second Erin's safe._

Wraith chewed her lower lip.  She could sense a number of things that could go wrong in that instance.  But she couldn't deny that Guen had a very good point: Milo probably wouldn't be as willing to cooperate if he knew Wraith was in charge, and not his precious Guenhivyre.  Slowly, very slowly, she withdrew into herself, pushing Guen forward, and after a moment's near loss of balance, they had switched.  Guen shook herself free of the sensation, only to find Jervis staring.

“Tell me you're not drunk.” He grumbled.

“Quite sober, thanks for the vote of confidence.” She sighed.  “Wraith and I have switched for the moment.”

“Why?” He demanded.  “Much as this pains me to say it, she's more useful in a situation such as this one.”

“Because Milo may not cooperate well if we just let you and Wraith go charging in there.  We have to make this look more like a surrender of some kind.” She answered, somewhat bitterly.

“Just so you are aware, Miss Pendragon, I am not concerned with your safe escape in this undertaking.  Erin is the only thing that matters to me.”

“Still stinging over the business with my blonde wig, are you?” She spat angrily, and he glared back at her in a way that said he wasn't about to let that grudge go.  “When are you going to understand, I never meant to insult you, Tetch.  The wig was to help hide my identity.”

“Whatever you say.” He responded in an idle tone that left her unconvinced.  Her gut squirmed, her unease and dread increasing nearly tenfold as they approached the door.  Pulling on the lapels of his cuffs and adjusting his gloves nervously, Jervis tried the door, and it swung open easily.

“Unlocked.” He stated, a waver in his voice.

“Not surprised.” Guen muttered, stepping past him as quietly as she could.  Her wings gave a small tremble, and she folded them tightly against her back.  There was an old, musty, stale smell about the place, and the air was cold and damp.  It felt more like it should have been a jail cell or a dungeon or something.  She shifted from foot to foot uneasily, glancing back and forth down the hallway.

“How can you see in all this blasted dark?” Jervis muttered behind her, and with a start she realized she _could_ see, despite all the shadows and the blackness of the place.

“Raptor vision?” She answered.  “One of the perks of being a mutant experiment, I guess.  Now come on, we need to find Erin.  So, shh!”

They crept silently through the hall, Guen having to stop Jervis once or twice from running into a wall and causing a clamor.  They followed it for a while, when a room with the door slightly ajar caught Guen's notice.  She waved him back for a moment, slowly pushing the door in a little, squinting into the darkness.  The room lacked windows, and it was hard to see, even with her raptor senses kicked in, but something seemed to shimmer off the walls, which were covered by something.

Her insides went cold so fast she almost forgot how to breathe, terror tightening her chest.

This was the room, wasn't it?  The room covered in pictures of _her_.

Her stomach twisted and lurched.  She was going to be sick if they didn't get away _now_.

“What is it?” Jervis hissed.  “Is Erin in there?”

“No,” she said quickly, pulling back and just managing to avoid shutting the door completely, “It's nothing.  Besides, there was a light on somewhere.  That's probably where they are.”

They crept away and continued, though within seconds they came across a door behind which a light was shining, the illumination spilling through the cracks.  Guen pulled back again, her heart beginning to pound again, feathers puffing out as her instincts warned her to flee.  The last thing she wanted was to go into a room with her worst nightmare again.

But Erin was in there, and Jervis was at her back, threatening decapitation if she did nothing.

_I can make it through this._  She thought determinedly.   _It's going to be fine._

Jervis, apparently fed up with her hesitation, took the lead and strode forward, throwing the door open and entering the room.  For a second, the light nearly blinded her, but her vision readjusted rapidly, and she looked into the room.

Erin was indeed in there, looking rather miserable and tied to a chair with duct tape, and pacing the length of the room, hands folded behind his back, was Milo, dark eyes glowering under his ridiculous bowlcut the entire time.  Both of them glanced up when Jervis entered, Erin's face lighting up where Milo's darkened.

“I have come for my bride, foul jabberwock!” Jervis declared proudly, throwing out his chest.

“Oh Jervis!” Erin cried in delight.

“Oh shut up, you idiotic puffin.” Milo growled.  “Where's Guenhivyre?”

Before the Mad Hatter could use the opportunity to make her nothing more than a bargaining chip, she stepped forward, clenching her fists at her sides and forcing herself to make eye contact.

“I'm right here.” She answered frostily, and Milo's thin eyes narrowed to slits as he glared back.

“Guenhivyre.” His tone was still furious, yet he managed nonetheless to say her name in the same way he always did, with a mixture of rapture and loathing.  “I knew you would come.  You would do anything to help any of your precious little girl friends.”

She folded her arms and gave a careful shrug.  “Women have a strong sense of camaraderie, what can I say.” She answered in guarded tones.  That was, in fact, what she was counting on.  Trick Deck hadn't been keen at all on giving her directions to the place, and she was secretly hoping the other girls would show up sooner or later.  Wraith was tough in her own right, and the past three months or so of training with Two-Face and his thugs had taught her excellent street fighting hand-to-hand combat, but Guen still felt better at the thought the other girls would be there to help her.

“I've brought her.” Jervis spoke up, not about to let the focus be redirected.  “Now let my Erin go, and we'll be on our way.”

“Not so fast,” Milo answered, shaking his hand and waggling a finger, “Knowing how things could easily fall apart, I need to know I've got your full cooperation first.”

Jervis threw Guen a glance that she knew meant trouble instantly, and Milo turned away for a moment, moving past Erin and approaching a small box on the counter behind him.  Everyone tensed, and for a moment, there was silence as Milo withdrew something from the box.  A second later, he flicked it through the air, and it was by a sheer stroke of luck that the Englishman caught it.

“What in the name of Carroll?” He blurted out, lowering the thin object.  Guen recognized it instantly.  It was the modified mind control card that Milo had practically stolen from Jervis and Erin and used to try to control Wraith.  Panic began to erupt in her mind, but thankfully, Jervis appeared not to know what to do.

“Attach that to Miss Pendragon's collar, if you please,” Milo remarked lightly, “I don't want her other personality getting in the way of our business transaction.”

“Jervis, you wouldn't—“ Erin began.

“Touch me and Wraith will break your fingers.” Guen said in a high-pitched voice, taking a step back, but Jervis only continued to stare at the card dumbly.

“This...this was one of my cards.” He mumbled, turning it over in his hands.  “How _dare_ you, sir, steal and modify _my_ technology!”

“Honestly, Tetch!” Milo scoffed.  “Haven't you guessed it already?  It was your work on the Lion Research Institute's neurochip vocal command tech that got you interested in mind control crap in the first place!”

Guen's eyes shot wide open, and Erin went very still in her chair.

“What?” Guen blurted out, turning to stare at Jervis open-mouthed.  “You're...you're the guy...but...YOU are responsible for the damn chip in my head?  In Lance's head?  In Incubus's head?”

“What?  No!  Preposterous!” Jervis stuttered, before squinting at Milo.  “Explain yourself!”

“Idiot!” Milo hissed, moving faster than either of them could follow, snatching the card from him.  “Think back.  You were an intern, and when you were asked to do a quick job for a rival company, you tried to keep it all as hush-hush as possible!  Think about it, Tetch!  I called you in to help me with a 'control function issue.'  It was your assistance that allowed me greater control over Guenhivyre, once you helped me alter the parameters on her neurochip.  You may not have known it was that at the time, but didn't you think it was a little odd I wouldn't let you see the actual 'device' that you worked on from a remote control room?”

His face went a pasty white and he took several steps backward.

“Jervis?” Erin asked worriedly, not that she could be blamed, as the Englishman looked ready to nearly throw up.  Guen in turn backed away from him rather quickly, feeling old nightmares trying to force their way back into the front of her mind.   _Jervis_ was behind Milo having messed with the neurochip in her brain?

_THAT would explain why I freaking hate him!_ Wraith snarled somewhere in her mind.  Guen was inclined to agree, when Milo moved again before she could react, and abruptly her mental connection with her other personality was _severed_.  She spun, ready to backhand the chemist, but he stepped back just in time, and her hand connected with a raised fist.

“YOU—!!”

“Don't you dare hit me.” He growled, and her thoughts promptly went sluggish.  Her arm dropped to her side against her will and she took a step back.  “Don't try to leave, either.”

Her knees and her feet locked up, and she glared at him with all of the hate and the force she could muster.

“You _bastard_!” She hissed, curling her hands into useless fists.

“If you want to let Erin return home with her fiancé, unharmed, you'll obey my every word.” Milo retorted, eyes blazing as he crossed his arms at her, and she seethed.  He had planned this all along, and her moment of hesitation had cost her dearly.  She glanced to Erin, whose cornflower-blue eyes were brimming with unshed tears.  The sight of her face was all Guen needed to know she was conflicted; Leave with Jervis, or allow something to happen to her friend.

“Fine, Milo.  I'll play by your rules...for now.  Seems I have little choice otherwise.” She huffed, before turning to Jervis and giving a barely perceptible nod.  “Go on, get out of here.”

His eyebrows met his hairline as he gawked at her.  “Miss Pendragon?”

“Get Erin out of here already.” She said, fighting to keep her voice steady as her terror started to climb and threaten to overtake her.  “I'll be alright, okay?”

“But Guen—!!” Erin protested.

“Don't argue, Erin.  Just trust me, okay?  Jervis, move it or lose it.”

His dark blue eyes met hers and for a moment, a grim flicker of understanding passed between them in spite of their mutual hatred, and he nodded in return, moving to free Erin from the chair and tossing a dark look at Milo, who merely smiled back in a pleasant way.  Guen took the moment of distraction to try tugging at the control card he had forced onto her collar, but it held fast despite her attempts.  If only she had Wraith's determination at that moment, or Ramsey's strength!

Panic blossomed in her chest.  She had to do something!  She had to get this off!

Jervis lifted Erin in his arms, gave Guen a curt nod, then glared at Milo again.

“You'll get yours, you cur.” He said darkly.

“Oh,” Milo replied, “I hope so.  I really, truly hope so.”

The Hatter gave a small shudder, and began to march out, and Erin took the opportunity to begin protesting wildly.

“Jervis!  Jervis, don't!  We can't just leave Guen!  She doesn't know what she's getting into, it's not safe!  Jervis, I'm frightened for her!  We can't do this, this isn't right!  Guen?  Guen, tell him it's not right!” She said in a high, shrill voice.  The winged girl wouldn't look at her friend, biting her lip, her heart drumming wildly.

“Don't you dare try to agree with her.” Milo said in a low tone.

“Wasn't planning on it.” Guen hissed back at him.

Erin watched as she was carried from the room and her friend stayed resolutely in the same spot.  Tears started to spill from the redhead's eyes.

“Guen?” She asked, a tremor in her voice.

Her friend's wings gave a rustle, shifting uneasily on her back.

“ _Guen_?   _Guen_!” Erin called, wishing she would turn around and run after them.

But she didn't move.  Only her wings continued to shift in a subtle display of fear.

“ _GUEN!_ ” Erin's scream echoed through the lab as Milo slammed the door shut behind them, and the young woman began to shake where she stood, adrenaline starting to pump through her veins.  Silence began to descend upon the room, until a low chuckle built up behind her.

“You know, I never actually thought this was going to happen.” Milo said in a low, poisonous mutter.  “I didn't think that my plans would work, but lo and behold, the cosmos favors me.”

“Oh, of _course_ it does.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“And now that we're here together for another little reunion...” He continued, and something oily brushed against the tips of her feathers on her left wing.  She snapped it out, a reflex reaction that smacked Milo into the wall behind her.  She turned on the spot, dancing backwards, adrenaline pumping faster and faster, and she raised her fists.  He glared at her as he staggered to his feet, rubbing his jaw.

“Oh...you're going to pay for that, my pet.” He hissed angrily.

“You seem to be under the delusion that I owe you a lot.” She retorted, continuing to stride backward, weaving back and forth and trying to force her tense muscles to loosen a bit.  It may have been Wraith receiving those lessons from Two-Face, but they both shared a body, and she still was able to recall what had been taught.  She had to keep her limbs just loose enough to strike blows without warning, but her muscles had to remain tense as well, to resist any blows that he might inflict.

“You have no idea.” He growled, stalking towards her, eyes blazing with hate.

“I chose the wording I did for a reason, Milo,” she started to move to the side, allowing some sway to her motions, “You're delusional.  You're crazy.”

“I'm not crazy, I am _perfectly_ sane!” He snapped.

“Half of Arkham says the same thing, and they're all behind glass walls.” She snorted.  “Besides, what in the world has you thinking that I'm just going to be a doormat and submit to your demands because you found a way to put Wraith to sleep for a while?”

At that he froze, and for a second she felt a sense of smug triumph.  But it vanished in a breath when she realized she hadn't thrown him off his game, and he smiled, turning and approaching a small box on a nearby table.  She tensed, expecting him to draw a weapon.

But he pulled out no gun and no blade.

A small, plush, patchwork dragon emerged from the box as he turned it over in his hands.  It was made of blue velvet and fleece, save for two wings made from a shimmering, iridescent fabric.  Guen froze, her heart catching in her throat.  That dragon!

“Recognize him, Guenhivyre?” He asked quietly, not looking at her as he stroked the dragon's black horns, his eyes distant and glassy, “You had him when you were little.  You weren't allowed much at the Lion Research Institute; None of the test subjects were.  Most of them didn't even get to keep the clothes on their backs when they were brought in.  But you...you were brought in clutching this stupid toy, and for the four years you were there, he never left your sight.”

More memories started to come back to her.  But unlike her terrifying memories of the night when she and Logann had escaped with Langstrom, these were warmer, softer memories.  She had a vague, fleeting impression of her mother, Clio, sewing something one night.  It was followed rapidly by a memory of Clio handing her the plush little dragon with a loving smile, a gift to keep her connected to her father.  She remembered carrying him with her everywhere in a huge, chilling building that she came to learn later was the Lion Research Institute.  She had nearly lost him a few times, and there were other moments when she had been in fear that the dragon would be taken from her, but it never happened.  She had him tucked under her arm when she ate, she played with him when she could, and she never went to sleep without him, burying her face in the soft fabric as she dreamed of her mother.

A name floated to her mind.

“Fangs.” She blurted out, green eyes going wide.  Now she remembered; She had named him Fangs, thanks to Logann complaining that girls shouldn't play with toys that had scary teeth.  “ _That's_ why we kept stealing the dragon-themed things.  I was trying to remember _Fangs_!”

“Precisely.” Milo said with a sneer, finally looking at her and holding the plush dragon aloft, waving it tauntingly.  “And if you want him back, you're going to do everything I say.  And Guenhivyre, I mean everything.”

Her stomach roiled.  She had a feeling that he was going to try to do this again, try to make her relive _that_ night for real.

“Choke on something, why don't you?” She snapped back.  “You can't tell me what to do.”

“Actually, Guenhivyre...I can.”

“Then you'd better get ready to protect yourself, you walking bowlcut.” She let out a low laugh as she shook her head.  “You're in for the fight of your life.  I _am_ walking out of here with my dragon, and you're not going to lay a hand on me without getting some serious pain as payback.”

“We'll see about that.” He responded coolly, setting Fangs down on the table and taking slow, deliberate strides toward her.  Her fear escalated rapidly, and she raised her fists again.  Her dread gave way to thoughts she never wanted to think, trying to flood her thoughts with grim outcomes to this scenario. And she knew more than a few of them were likely.

But Wraith wouldn't have gone down without a fight, and Guen was not about to do so, either.

She bent her knees, tilting her wings at an angle, and let out an inhuman screech of challenge.

“Cute.” Milo said with a roll of his eyes, before surging forward and swinging a fist.


	16. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the bad shit.

Something was wrong.  Ramsey wasn’t entirely sure how he knew it, but his instincts told him that something was wrong, and he wasn’t about to dismiss such a notion.  The people of this Gotham—his New Egypt yet to be reborn—did not seem to rely on these ‘gut feelings’ and dismissed any stock put into believing in them as nothing but blind belief in ‘hokum.’  Oh, how their eyes would be opened if the gods walking among them would finally deem it time to bless them with a revitalizing of the senses!

The feeling began to nudge at him, compelling him to leave.  He had to do something.  He was the Pharaoh, was he not?!  He could not sit idly by.  He rose from his chair and moved to the old reception desk behind them, looking in the shelves to find his weapons stored back there.  His actions did not go unnoticed, and the man who called himself “the Dungeon master” turned to stare at him.

“What’s got _your_ bandages in a tangle, huh?” He asked.  He had shown an annoying habit of being somewhat disrespectful since he arrived, but Ramsey had no time to worry over the matter.  He had to take action and find Guen-Wraith-whatever-her-full-name-was.  Normally she would have contacted them by now, to let them know what was going on.  Her “Papa Bear” was not given to worrying about her in great detail, but she had made it a point to keep in contact with him very often, and she _should_ have made contact by now.

“My linen cloths are not tangled, you ignorant buffoon, and presently, the Pharaoh shall be about his own business and it is his business alone!  A mere man cannot understand the whims of the gods or the people they chose to act on their behalf among humans.” Ramsey retorted.  “It is my duty as Pharaoh to seek out the priestess of Horus and ensure her welfare.”

“I doubt that’s your job.” Cassandra remarked, looking up from where she and the Dungeon master had been conversing and recalling their history together.  “It’s not like we’re that little…demon’s keepers.  You don’t need to go looking for her, big man.  You can just stay here.  She’ll either find her way back here or she’ll get killed.  Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

Ramsey glanced up at her and frowned.  He had to respect her of course; she was a mortal descendant of Ra himself.  Still, he didn’t like her treacherous suggestions.

“It is my duty.” He repeated in a stern voice.  He turned to the two-faced man, catching his gaze and holding it.  “I shall endeavor to return the young priestess and myself here completely intact, as it is within my god-bestowed powers to ensure no harm shall befall the innocent lambs under my care.  No, no, you have no need to follow me.  I shall see to this matter myself.”

“Whatever you say, ‘Pharaoh.’” Came the calm reply as a coin flipped into the air over and over.  “We’ll be here.”

Ramsey nodded, satisfied with the answer for the time being.  He turned and strode from the condominium hotel, staff, crook and flail in hand, holding his head high and regal.  He didn’t care if the expedition took him all night on foot.  After all, he was the Pharaoh, and the notion that anyone could have tried to stop him never entered Ramsey’s mind, as it was simply too inconceivable an idea.  Furthermore, he felt a great deal of loyalty to the young winged woman.  Since his revival and his escape from Arkham Asylum—honestly, the nerve of some people, locking up royalty with the common, diseased populace like he was some criminal!—she had been perhaps the only person to take him seriously in any manner and show him any sort of proper kindness befitting his station and glorious royal person.  Certainly, she wasn’t always the most courteous or respectful, but she had been exceptionally loyal to him after knowing him for barely moments, and he intended to see her loyalty would be repaid.

He was barely a block away from the building when he heard someone call out for him, and he slowed down, looking over his shoulder.  To his surprise, the diminutive Dungeon master was chasing after him, waving a hand for him to slow down.  Ramsey stopped, more surprised than anything, and waiting for the thin, bespectacled man to catch up to him.

“You called for the Pharaoh?” He asked in surprise.

“Yeah…slow down, wouldja?” Gary panted back at him as he skidded to a halt and doubled over to catch his breath.  “Hard to keep up with a guy like you.”

“Why are you following me?”

“Can’t say that I’m totally sure, but I want to help.”

“You don’t even know the priestess of Horus.”

“Yeah, but isn’t it better to put a group effort into this?”

“Are you suggesting the Pharaoh ally himself with a common court magician?”

Gary scowled, as though he had taken offense to that particular label.  Ramsey didn’t see why; it was accurate enough to describe him.  Still, after a moment, Gary withdrew something from one of his pockets and flipped it open, a bright screen greeting him.  He tapped at it several times, and then looked up at Ramsey with a serious expression.

“Bird-girl’s name, what is it?” He asked.

“The Priestess of Horus has multiple names.”

“Which is the name she usually goes by?”

“Wraith.”

“Should have figured,” Gary muttered before addressing the object in his hand in a commanding voice, “Computer.  Search all data on the criminal Wraith.  Transfer data to all remote functioning automatons.  Scan for and locate the civilian by this alias.”

“Affirmative.” The small box in his hand answered in a monotonous, mechanical voice.  Ramsey raised his eyebrows in shock.

“It speaks!”

“It does way more than that.  Now, perhaps if we can figure out who saw Wraith last, we may have a better chance of finding out where she is.  Think you can remember someone she’s likely to talk to?  She said she was going to go see someone when she left last.”

Ramsey drew himself up to his full height, which was impressive even for a god-anointed ruler, if he did say so himself, and gave the smaller man an approving nod.

“Very well, ‘Dungeon-master.’  Perhaps I underestimated you.  Come, we must find the Priestess of Horus.  I owe her that much, if nothing else.”

*****

Both men had to admit that they were definitely invaluable to one another in their search.  Ramsey had a knack for remembering any small thing he had picked up on, and Gary seemed to have a veritable invisible army at his beck and call, searching for the young woman.  Their search took them first to find the young woman called Banshee, but that came to a dead end.  They managed to find a young woman called Magpie, but she was accompanied by a man, and they decided to steer clear of the apparent young couple.

“Well, what now?” Gary asked, looking fretful, not that Ramsey could blame him.  It was late, _really_ late, and still they had found _nothing_ useful.  He racked his brains trying to remember.  There was a man she was rather infatuated with, but he couldn’t recall the fellow’s name or face for anything.

“There was a woman I believe she mentioned once.” Ramsey murmured, slowly taking to pacing in circles.  “She always referred to her as semi-sane, and I believe she was referring to this same woman when she left earlier.”

“Okay, so who is this woman?” Gary pressed, tapping the edge of his small device thoughtfully.  Or perhaps impatiently.  The British-Egyptian man couldn’t be sure.  “Do you recall her name at all?”

“I remember she has the red hair signifying an agent of Set.”

The smaller man scowled and adjusted his glasses.  “Okay, that only narrows it down slightly.” He huffed.  “Are you going to make me do a scan of all the women in Gotham with red hair?”

Ramsey waved him into silence for a moment, trying to remember.  Why was this so vexing?  Normally he could recall the smallest details on demand—

He stopped in mid-stride, flapping a hand as he began to realize something.

“She runs a tea shop!”

“A tea shop.  Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No, the Pharaoh would never reduce himself to the position of some English court jester, especially not in a situation like this one.”

“That’s comforting.  So you say she’s a redhead running a tea shop here in Gotham?  I’m still not sure about the redheaded bit, but I could run a scan of all the cafés here in Gotham and cross-referen—“

“The Mad Tea House!”

Gary’s eyebrows slowly crept up to meet his messy mop of a flyaway fringe as he fixed Ramsey with an infuriatingly condescending look of disbelief.

“The Mad Tea House.” He echoed in a dull tone.  “You’re _sure_ that’s the name of the place?”

“Do you think I would disgrace my illuminated tongue with falsehoods?” Ramsey challenged.

“I just want to be certain you know for sure, that’s all.” Gary answered lightly, his fingers flying across the device in his hands.  It chirped and hummed several times, before finally spitting out an address in that same deadpan voice.  With barely a glance exchanged between them, they set off to find the Mad Tea House, moving at top speed.  There were few street lamps lit at this hour, and a foreboding wind rose in the late night, sending chills down their spines.

The Mad Tea House was closed of course, but Gary continued to prove he was in fact, an able-bodied magician.  His magic device box was at work the whole time, and by the moment they had arrived to find the café vacant, it gave them another address, leading them to an apartment not far from where they were.  They took off again, desperation beginning to lend them speed.  More than ever, that feeling nagged at Ramsey.  Not that he had to do something, as that bit was being taken care of.  He was doing something about the situation; he was seeking out his friend and companion.  But this nagging sensation was something else all together.  It was a sinking, gut-wrenching suspicion that he had acted too late, that something had already happened to the winged woman.

And most unfortunately, it was confirmed when they arrived at the apartment address.

Ramsey rapped his knuckles on the door sharply, and at first, there was no response.  He glanced to Gary, who only shrugged and pointed at the door.  The Pharaoh exhaled a sigh, prayed that Ra would overlook his stooping to such a low as knocking on a door like some ordinary person, and rapped his knuckles against the wood again, harder this time.

“Go away!” an accented voice snapped from inside.  Of course, that was beyond insulting!  Someone denying his magnificence entry and without even doing him the courtesy of at least looking at him face-to-face first and explaining why?  This time he pounded on the door, slamming his fist against it as hard as he could without breaking it.  And this time when he stopped, the door swung open.  A shorter, angry-looking man with a shaggy mess of fair hair and a rather prominent overbite glared up at him, and Ramsey returned his stare stoically, crossing his arms.

“Did you not bloody hear me the first time?” The man snarled.

“I am willing to forgive your rudeness, as you are a descendent of Ra himself,” Ramsey announced in a loud tone, indicating the man’s blonde hair, “But we require your help.  There is a woman with you, is there not?”

“Ah-ah, I’ll not have any of that, sir!” The blonde man snapped, waggling a threatening finger in their faces.  “My darling Erin has gone through enough tonight already, and I won’t have any badgering riffraff upsetting her further!”

He made to slam the door on them, but Gary threw his weight against the door, and Ramsey slammed it completely open with a sharp swing.

“I am the Pharaoh and I will not be denied.” He said in a low voice.  “We wish to speak with this Erin, in hopes that she knows the whereabouts of my associate, the Priestess of Horus.”

“Priestess of—“the man started to say, when comprehension dawned in his eyes and his face paled.  “Oh.  Oh, dear.”

“He knows something.” Gary said in a voice that was almost a growl.  At this, Ramsey raised his eyebrows sharply, and the blonde man quailed in fear.

“Jabberwock’s teeth!  Very well, I suppose I have little choice.  Miss Pendragon is…we left her in danger.  She told me to leave with Erin.”

“ _Danger_?” Ramsey was on the verge of roaring.

“ _Where_ did you leave her?” Gary jumped in, putting himself between them both.  Probably attempting to shield the Pharaoh as he should be, Ramsey thought, and thus he allowed this.  “Do you remember the exact place?  Help us out here, an address, _something_!”

“Is that a palm pilot?” The blonde man said with a nod to the box in Gary’s hands.

“Micro-navigational computer and remote control box for my automatons.  Do you remember the address?  Can you enter it in?”  He asked, practically shoving the device at him.  He was given a skeptical look, and for a moment, both Ramsey and his newfound companion realized the same thing.  This fellow was tempted not to tell them anything.  He was torn on the inside somehow, and there was a good chance he wouldn’t help.

But then the tension left the short Englishman in a sigh, and he took the handheld computer, tapping at it half-heartedly for a few moments before handing it back.

“Understand something, would you, gentleman?” He said in a low voice.  “I despise Miss Pendragon.  I owe her no favors, and she has caused me enough troubles, I would not mind if either my Erin or I never see her again.  But she was willing to stay behind and risk something horrid happening to her in order to allow Erin and I to leave safely.  For that, I shall repay this much.”

“Thank you for the help.” Gary managed to say, before tugging on Ramsey’s arm and leading him away.  The door shut behind them, and Gary lifted the tiny computer, squinting at the address on the screen and adjusting his glasses meticulously.  “That could have gone better, but at least he helped.”

“Something most foul is afoot, magician!  I can feel it… _in my belly!_ ”

“Nice to know that we’re relying on your stomach to state the obvious, Pharaoh Sherlock.”

“Ramses.  Pharaoh Ramses.  And thank you.”

Several more chirps issued from the device, and Gary suddenly scowled.

“This address is just on the outskirts of Old Gotham.” He declared in a low voice.  “Looks like an old lab, owned by Roland Daggett.  I don’t like the sounds of this, Mummy-man.  Daggett’s bad news; he’s a crook of a businessman and political figure.  And besides that, it could take us all night to get to this place on foot alone.”

“We shall obtain passage from one of those yellow vehicles that always wail about the city so!” Ramsey exclaimed, seizing the smaller man by a sleeve and charging down the stairs of the apartment building at top speed and dragging him along.  “They shall assist us!  Nobody can deny my radiance!”

“How lucky for us.” Came the dry response.  They were down by the street in moments, looking any which way for a sign of some vehicle.  They weren’t there for very long by the time that Gary muttered something that sounded like, “Idiot.  Like there’ll be any cabs out at this hour.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.  And is it just me, or is that car heading toward us slowing down?”

Ramsey looked to the left, unsurprised to find that there was in fact, a car approaching them and slowing down, though it wasn’t yellow and had no other indications that it was a taxi.  For an instant, he tensed, worried it might be danger, but as the car slowed to a stop, he realized he was staring down at a familiar inky face behind a passenger side window.

“PTAH!” He bellowed, throwing his hands into the air.  “Praise be!  You heard of our plight and came to our aid!  I am forever in your debt!”

The window slowly rolled down, then the driver leaned over and scowled at them next to Ink.

“Doubtful.” The skinny papyrus reed of a redheaded man from the asylum muttered.

“What’s wrong, guys?” The blonde woman asked, glancing from Ramsey to Gary.  “You shouldn’t be out this late, just walking around.  You could get into trouble.  What are you doing?”

“No time to explain, we need a ride!” Gary spoke quickly, seizing the handle of the back passenger side door and pulling it open before it could be locked on them.  And despite protests from the front of the vehicle, he shoved the micro-computer at them as Ramsey clambered in the back seat.  “We need to get here, and fast!  Hurry!”

“You don’t tell me what to do—“

“He may not, but I am the Pharaoh!  My comrade, the Priestess of Horus, she’s in danger!  We must help her!”

This had the attention of the blonde woman immediately.  “Guennie’s in danger?!”

“Pendragon?” Crane said, raising his eyebrows.  “This is the address?”

“Isn’t that what we said?” Gary snapped in exasperation.  “Come on, step on it!”

*****

The laboratory was dark when they arrived, and for an instant, Crane tried to pull away, saying he doubted there was anyone in there.  But a quick glance showed one of the doors was slightly ajar, and Ramsey was out of the backseat before anyone could stop him.  He heard the car’s engine go off behind him, but he kept moving, even as he heard the others following behind.  Desperation warred with caution inside him, and he pulled the door open, proceeding as swiftly and silently as he was able to.  The hair on his neck rose and his heart started to pound.  Something about this place was wrong, and if his friend was here, he feared for her greatly.

Dark hallways wove in and out and he followed them as best as he could.  Suddenly, he realized there was a door slightly ajar on the right, and he paused, three more bodies crashing into him from behind.  He lurched forward slightly, but didn’t topple over, and turned, pressing a finger to his lips and shushing them.  He turned to the door, gently easing it open, and glancing inside.

“Pitch-black in there.” Gary murmured behind him.  Ramsey stepped inside, trying to feel around for a light switch, and something glossy on the walls made him jump.

“What’s wrong, Ramsey?” Ink-Ptah behind him whispered.   He fumbled for a moment, then finally found the switch and flicked the lights on, his stomach immediately recoiling at the sight.

“Holy motherboard.” Gary managed to spit out, sounding as disgusted as Ramsey felt.  “This is some sick kind of stalker’s shrine.”

“I know what that is…” Ink said in a low voice behind them, her voice wavering as her worry battled anger and revulsion.

Ramsey didn’t want to hear what it was.  He had seen enough now, and he spun from the room, running at top speed to follow the hallway.  Now he knew exactly the sort of danger his priestess friend was facing, and—

He skidded to a halt.  Another door was slightly open, and a dim light was flickering inside the room.  He wrenched it open and stepped inside, heart hammering in concern and building rage.  The room was just barely lit by a single light left on, and it was apparent that that bulb was going to reach the end of its life soon.  He cared little about the furnishings present or any obstacle they provided, but in several spots on the room, he saw dark patches of liquid glistening in the light.  He approached one tentatively and knelt down, dipping two of his fingers into the liquid and bringing it up to eye level, sniffing warily.  Coppery-metal.  Blood.  He looked up, trying to see all of the blood that he could, and among them, he started to notice there were several bright blue feathers scattered through the room.  His insides lurched, and as he continued to look, he saw a dark shape huddled at the far end of the room, lying on the floor.

“Priestess?” He murmured tentatively.

The shape didn’t move.  He stood up and approached it carefully, and he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he realized what he was looking at.

Two enormous, blood-stained wings were folded together awkwardly to form a cocoon, which shivered slightly from time to time.

“Priestess of Horus!” He exclaimed, rushing over next to her, his hand hovering just above her wing.  He wanted to touch it, to reassure her they were there, but he hesitated.  He couldn’t touch her, not right now.  He wasn’t sure why, but he knew he had to wait a moment.

“Guennie!” A voice shouted from the hall, and the others burst into the room behind him.  “Guennie?!  What happened?!  Ramsey, is she—“

“She’s alive,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder and trying to keep his demeanor calm as he looked at his goddess-friend in the poor light, “But I think irreparable damage has been done to her.  I…I don’t know what to do.”

She was by his side in seconds, and after a moment’s hesitation as well, she gently touched one of the shivering wings.

“Guennie?  Guennie, it’s us!  It’s Ink, and Jonathan, and Ramsey and, and—“

“Gary.” He muttered glumly behind them, his voice soft.  He turned and muttered something to Crane that they couldn’t quite hear, but it didn’t matter.  At that moment, the wings shifted, pulling more in on themselves.

“Go away.” A tiny, timid voice squeaked inside the mass of feathers.  “Don’t touch me.”

“Priestess, will you not tell us what happened to you?”

“Go away,” Guen’s tiny voice grew even fainter, “…broken.  Leave me alone.  Don’t touch…  Broken.  Don’t…don’t touch…”

“Guennie?” Ink-Ptah murmured, glancing from her to Ramsey and back again, her emotions mixed.  “Did…did _Milo_ do this?”

Her wings shifted again, parting, and they both nearly recoiled from the sight of her.  Her use of the word ‘broken’ became evident.  Her hair was a mess, matted with blood on the silver dye, and some of the blood had dried a little bit ago against her face.  Her eyes were wide and frightened, like some animal, and she shuddered uncontrollably.  Her clothes were ripped and shredded, slick with more blood, especially around her legs.  Ramsey respectfully diverted his eyes, and noticed she was holding something against her chest, something small and blue, made of a soft fabric.  She didn’t seem to see him right away, but she saw Ink-Ptah, a moment of clarity lit up her green eyes, and she slowly nodded.

Ramsey felt sickened.  He didn’t know anything about this ‘Milo’ person, but if they had done this to a priestess, and a priestess of Horus at that, they deserved death.  Somehow he knew without knowing, what had happened, and the answer enraged him.  No woman deserved this.  And if he thought he was angry, Ink-Ptah was angrier.  The ink-blood that normally flowed from her right eye alone suddenly poured out from both of her eyes and rose off her face, writhing and twisting like angry serpents.  Still, she managed to compose herself, and gently brushed a hand against Guen’s wing.

“Don’t worry,” she said in a voice that was nothing like her usual, sunny self, “We’re going to get him for you.  You understand, Guennie?  He’s not going to get away with this.”

“Too late.” Guen murmured, looking away, her eyes beginning to look dull and empty again.  “Too late.  Broken… and no one wants me now.  Worthless and useless.”

“That’s not true!” Ramsey said fiercely.  “It’s not, and you know it, Priestess!  Do not say things like that about yourself!”

“Yes it is.”

“Do _not_ say things like that about yourself!  Now I’m your Pharaoh, and that’s an order!”

“Orders.  That’s how he-he did this.  Orders.  Have to obey, like a g-good girl…can’t stop it.  Stupid control chip.  Managed to get it off.  Tossed it somewhere.  I’m sick of obeying.  I wanna die.”

“You are not going to die!” Ink-Ptah spoke just as fiercely.  “You hear me?  You’re not dying!”

“Fe-feels like it…”  She muttered back.  “I wanna die.  Just leave me alone…let me die.”

They exchanged a look, hearts heavy.

“Do you think you could fashion a mat or something, lovely Ptah, to carry her on?”

“I could try…” She answered, and the ink from her eyes trailed down to her hands.  With several quick, deft moments, she began to fashion something from her ink as though she were an ordinary woman weaving a basket.  The process took some time, but before long, they had a large, curved mat of ink that they could place Guen in, wings and all.  Ramsey turned to her, wincing.  He wanted to avoid touching her, out of respect for her wishes, but he saw no other choice in the matter now, and at any rate, he was probably the only person present who could lift her on his own.

“Priestess.  I am sorry.  I want to respect your wishes, but I must touch you a little in order to lift you into Ptah’s mat.”

She sucked in a breath, wincing, and looked away from him, but she opened her wings fully, and he took it as permission to do what he had to.  Keeping his eyes on her wings, Ramsey gently eased his arms under her knees and neck, lifting her off the ground.  She was much lighter than he was expecting, and he wondered idly if it was part of Horus’s blessing upon her, like her wings.  He moved slowly and carefully, placing her in the mat, which molded around her form to better accommodate her.

“There you are.  My apologies, as I’ll have to carry you still, but I won’t be in direct contact with you any longer.”

She didn’t answer him, but unconsciously began to stroke the small, soft object in her arms.

“Guennie, what is that?” Ink-Ptah asked as Ramsey lifted the mat with her in it.  To everyone’s surprise, the winged woman let out a sharp, mirthless cackle, moving her hand to reveal a tiny, patchwork blue dragon stuffed animal.

“Fangs.” She answered.  “Milo took him from me when I was little.  Fangs was supposed to watch over me for my parents.  Fangs was there so I knew they loved me.  Milo took him away.  He’s taken everything away.  I can’t get it back.  It wasn’t his to take.  But now I can’t get it back.  But Fangs…I got Fangs back.  Fangs was never his, and now I’ve got my dragon back.”

Tears began to pour down her cheeks, mixing with the blood, and silently, everyone left the building, their minds and hearts weighed down as they marched back out to the car.  The moonlight was sharper, and Ramsey glanced down, realizing that a lot of the blood on Guen did not seem to come from cuts.  In fact, there were hardly any injuries above her waist; most of them were lower.  Did that mean not all of the blood was hers?  Had she put up a fight then?

He wanted to say something to the others, to try to find something positive in this horror, when he noticed something.  Her wings had been missing several feathers, which he had seen on the floor in the lab, and her feathers prior to this had always been blue plumage when her wings were smaller.  Now her wings were large enough to encase her like a shield, and already more feathers were starting to slide into place, and no longer did they have a beautiful midnight-blue hue.

“Your feathers!” Ramsey cried in a despairing voice.  “Priestess, your feathers!  They’re gray.”

“Everything’s gray, Ramsey.” She answered in a cold, dead sort of voice.  “Everything is gray.”


	17. Hope And Despair

She woke not to faces, but voices.  She wasn’t sure if she could open her eyes, but if she was able, she did not wish to.  But the voices brought her back to the waking world gradually, and against her wishes.  She could hear whispers and snatches of low conversation, but she wasn’t able to grasp any of what was being said.  Not that she had any desire to, at that point.  She was too busy wondering why she wasn’t dead already, and wishing that she had died.

Everything hurt.  Breathing hurt, moving hurt, listening hurt.  Her ribs felt battered and her entire body felt bruised.  Her thighs burned, not only bruised, but lacerated as well.

She still wanted to die.  But she couldn’t.  Ramsey had told her she shouldn’t talk like that, and Ink had also asked her not to.  For them, she would try to move past those feelings.  But she still hurt.  And inside her mind, Wraith was raging, not so much an angry woman as an infuriated, wounded animal, desperate to lash out and hurt the one who had harmed her.  It was one of the few things that made sense in the whirling dark chaos that comprised her thoughts.

Eventually something about the voices cleared, becoming more distinct and audible, and she tried her best to focus on what was being said nearby.

“—never meant for this to happen.  But the fact of the matter remains.  She’s not coming in here; hysterics are not what Guen needs right now.”

Two-Face.  No, wait…not quite him.  The way he was speaking was too gentle; firm, but gentle.  That was Harvey speaking.  Guen tried to move her hand in order to get his attention, but her fingers felt numb, huge and clumsy.  She tried to move her mouth, to speak, but her lips were thick and cracked and practically glued together.

“We underst—“

“But please!  Please, just let me see her!”

Those voices were Jervis and Erin, she realized.  It seemed vaguely alien that Jervis would be there, but if Erin were here, Guen doubted Jervis would have let her come on her own.  Slowly, her brain began to string the conversation’s context together.  Erin wanted in, wherever ‘in’ was, but Harvey was refusing her entry, and Jervis was willing to agree to that where Erin wasn’t.

“Not right now.” Harvey’s tone took on a bit of a rough edge, probably Two-Face beginning to take over in order to assort more authority.  “If she wants to see anyone when she’s ready, that’s one thing.  But right now, ain’t nobody goes in there unless the coin agrees.”

“You can’t keep us out forever, yo!  She’s family to us, too!” Another voice protested.

“Akira doll…just calm down.  We all need to, for Guen’s sake.”

Banshee and Trick Deck.  They were there too?

“Then why does Ink get to be in there when we don’t?  That’s not fair!  She’s our friend too, yank!” Magpie’s voice interjected thickly, and something like relief washed over Guen for a moment.  It seemed like the rift between her and Mags had finally been eliminated.

_Sucky way for it to happen though._  She thought idly.

A shot was fired, slightly muffled, and there was a small crumbling noise.  A silencer perhaps?  Debris had fallen, not a body.  Had Two-Face shot at the ceiling then, to get everyone to stop?  She certainly hoped so.  The last thing she wanted was to wake up and find that one of her friends had been killed for trying to get to her.

“She helped to find Baby Bird.” Came the impatient snap.  “She, the oversized do-do bird, and the walking computer with glasses are allowed in and out when they want.  Now the rest of you sit down and shut up before I _really_ lose my temper.”

Guen waited to hear the sounds of rebellious mutiny, but then another voice slipped in and spoke too low for her to understand.  She recognized it in a second, though;  Cassandra Derricks.   _She_ was helping?  Why?  She hated Wraith.  And a moment later, Ramsey’s voice joined Cassandra’s, imploring and gentle despite its greater volume.  She didn’t catch all of what he said though, before she slipped back into an uneasy sleep.

*****

When she next woke, she was able to open her eyes, and she blinked up at a tiled, somewhat stained ceiling, wondering for a moment where she was and why she had woken up.  Something cool and damp pressed against her shoulder, and she realized that was what had brought her to consciousness.  With a great deal of effort, she turned her head and saw a weary, haggard looking Ramsey with dark circles under his eyes and a washcloth in one of his hands.

“Hey.” She managed to whisper in a tiny voice.

“PRIESTESS OF HORUS!” Ramsey bellowed in startled shock, jumping so hard he fell backward off the stool he had been sitting on.

“Guennie?!” Another voice cried in worried, hopeful tones to her other side, and a hand squeezed hers.  She turned her head again, with less effort this time, and looked up to see another familiar face, streaked with black tears and on the verge of bursting into sobs.  “You’re awake!  A-are you okay?  Say something!”

“Ramsey’s a big chicken.” Guen answered in a low murmur, chancing a weak smile.

“I am no such thing!” Ramsey huffed as he got to his feet and returned to his perch on the stool.  “I am the Pharaoh.  Priestess of Horus, I am so sorry—”

“Not your fault.”

The door to the room they were in suddenly burst open with a tremendous amount of force.  Guen shifted her gaze, and found to her shock, that Cassandra was the first one in the door, followed by Two-Face, and the Dungeonmaster poked his head in as well, before vanishing out of sight again, probably to tell someone else she was awake.  But Guen didn’t have much time to speculate on that, as suddenly Cassandra was pushing her hair out of her face and bending over her, an unusually worried expression on her face.

“Oh my god.  Talk to me honey, tell me what you need!”

“Am I in the right hideout?” Two-Face said somewhere behind her.

“Am I in the right _reality_?” Guen asked.

“We’ve all been really worried, Guennie,” Ink explained, “Cassandra too.”

“Damned right I’ve been worried!” Cassandra’s pale cheeks flushed slightly, but she drew herself up in a proud sort of way.  “I’ve been trying to find a hit man to call up, but Gary won’t allow it, for some reason.”

“Is she serious?” Guen mouthed, glancing between Ramsey and Ink, but neither had a chance to answer before Cassandra swooped down and gave Guen a quick, light, and somewhat awkward hug.

“Really, is there anything you need?” She asked.  “Anything?  I’ve got plenty of painkillers and vodka on hand.  You just say the word, and I’ll get them for you.”

“I don’t really feel pain at the moment, just kind of numb.” Guen answered.

“That’s because you’ve had some painkillers already.”

“O-kay…” She murmured, figuring it was just better to accept whatever was being said and go along with it.  “Where is everyone else?  I thought I heard May, and Erin and Akira…”

“Everyone’s here,” Ink answered as Cassandra drew back, “They’ve all been waiting for you to wake up.”

“You want them in here?” Two-Face asked, and slowly, she nodded in reply.  “Alright; I’ll go get ‘em.  Come on, Legs.  Maybe in all the relieved stampeding, you’ll get a chance to call a hit man after all.”

Cassandra tossed him a mildly irritated look, but strode out of the room in his wake.  For a moment, everything was quiet, and Guen had to fight to keep her mind away from remembering anything.  She had a vague recollection, but she didn’t want to think about it.  That was the last thing she wanted to remember.

As she was trying to find something non-violent, something normal to occupy her thoughts, on the edges of her awareness, she sensed Ramsey moving toward her, and she instinctively flinched away, twisting to face him with wide eyes as she moved closer to Ink.  His hand had been menacing for a moment, and her heart had started to pound in fear, expecting a fist or a grasping claw reaching for her.  Ramsey paused, staring at her in confusion, then drew back, sorrow starting to etch lines into his face.

“S-sorry, Ramsey.” Guen murmured.  “Just, please…I…I want some space.”

She hardly missed the flick of his eyes from her to Ink and back again, but a sort of calm resignation passed over him, and he simply nodded and murmured something to the extent of, “As you wish, my friend.”

Slowly, Ink started to brush back her hair in an oddly maternal sort of way, and Guen relaxed, just a little, as tears started to leak out of her eyes.  Everything was quiet for a moment or so, then the door began to creak, and tentative footfalls sounded, echoing oddly in her ears.

“Guen?” Several voices spoke her name all together, and she opened her eyes for a brief second.  Faces swam in her vision blurred by tears, but she knew who they all were regardless.  All of the girls were there now, all of them, and she closed her eyes again, more tears leaking out.  They slowly gathered around her bed, staying silent for the most part, save for some sniffling and stifled sobs on Erin’s part, and gently embraced her.

“What happened?” somebody asked.  She started to answer automatically, her mind going pleasantly numb as her mouth went on autopilot, shutting out almost all sensory intake as the girls began to interject angrily the more she explained.  It was strange, lying there and hearing their vehemence on her behalf, their threats against Milo, and yet not really hearing any of it at all. There was a dull buzzing in her head, and she felt somewhere _between_ , as though her two personalities were floating together in a white void.  It was almost pleasant in a bitter way.

And then something cut through the void.

“What?” A murmur slipped from her mouth unbidden.  She blinked slowly, turning to look at who had spoken.  Magpie?  What had she said?

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa whispered, “I’m so sorry.  I—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Guen sighed, “I’m sorry too; I should have talked to you before hand about…well, you know.  But what were you saying a second ago?”

She drew in a shaky breath, her blue eyes meeting Guen’s green ones.

“I wanted to know…d’you want me to go and get Eddie?”

Guen frowned for a second, tears threatening to sting her eyes as she looked away.

“I don’t know.” She replied.  “I don’t—I never—I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Akira asked, her eyes stealing a quick glance at the wings protruding from her friend’s back.  “Are you…you mean those?”

She hadn’t been thinking about her wings to begin with, but now that the attention had been given to them, she realized that they ached and felt somewhat sore from their abrupt fledging.  She sat up somewhat, her movements stiff and reserved, shifting her wings slightly, to give them a little more breathing room.

“I don’t want him to see me broken,” Guen whispered, not meeting any of their eyes, curling her knees up to her chest and hugging them, “Ruined.”

“Don’t say stuff like that!” Erin said in tones of unusual sharpness.  She had been hiccupping and sobbing for the most part since she had entered the room, but there was a strange hardness to her eyes now, as though she had found some sort of steel-backed resolution within herself to stop Guen from being too self-destructive.  “It’s not true.”

“Prove it.” Guen muttered bitterly.  “What else would you call a—a—“

“That’s enough of that,” May said, both gentle and firm, “We’re going to be here for you honey, and we’ll help you get through this, one way or another, but you’ve got to be willing to let us help and that means the first step here is that you’ve got to stop talking like that.”

She said nothing in response.  It certainly didn’t change how she felt about what had happened, but the girls meant well.  For the time being, she would have to try and avoid thinking about it.  Healing her body wouldn’t take too long; in fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if her mutant cells healed just a little faster than normal humans.  But the scars ran deeper than just that, and those would take much, much longer to heal.

She gave a shudder and felt some pain beginning to sink in again.  Apparently the painkillers were starting to wear off.  She needed to get some more of them from Cassandra, wherever she was.

“Guen…if there’s anything I can do…?” Erin asked abruptly, and Guen looked at her for a long moment, her eyes searching, before her face filled with gloomy resignation.

“If—if someone could—I don’t know—if someone could find my brothers—both of my brothers—and bring them here to talk to me…I’d greatly appreciate it.  I need to speak to them.”

*****

Underneath his mask, Incubus grimaced wearily, as his newly-appointed “partner” let loose an utter shriek of outrage, stomping an armored boot against the ground.

“HE GOT AWAY!”

“You know I’ve got eyes, for the record.” He remarked, somewhat irritably.  “Just in case you weren’t aware.  I saw that he got away.”

Lady Templar spun around in a fury, locks of her frizzled, curly hair escaping the hood of her costume as she started to grind her teeth together.

“Why didn’t you _help_?”  She yelled, advancing on him threateningly, and he had to resist the strong urge to strike his cane on the ground and manipulate her motor functions.  “Thanks a lot, Greek boy!  Batman is going to _kill_ us for this!”

Incubus gave an uncharacteristic scowl.  He had been less-than-thrilled to find out that the cop-turned-vigilante was the same woman who had threatened him in the lobby of his father’s building, and she had practically started spitting nails when she found out who _he_ was.  It seemed to be only on the Batman’s word that Lady Templar was willing to work with him at all, and even so, she hated every second she spent in Incubus’s company, she said.  Now she was especially in a royal rage, and he had the distinct impression that if there was one thing she didn’t want to do, it was disappoint Batman in any way.

Naturally of course, this meant Incubus was going to be in the role of a scapegoat, often.

“If you would have taken a second to listen to me,” he said with as much patience as he could summon, “Then you would have heard me say that you shouldn’t try and assume that you know whatever the Clock King has planned.  The man has contingency plans out the door, and fighting him unprepared is stupid and pointless.  And before you go arguing any part of that—“ he added, for he saw her open her mouth in protest, “—I’m going to just remind you that it was you who decided we had to go after him, when the only orders Batman gave us were to patrol.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it, then opened it once more only to shut it again.  He supposed she couldn’t make a solid argument against that, and he preferred her silent so far.  She had an irritating quality about her, and it made him almost happy that the Clock King had gotten away from them.  He knew Temple Fugate had a shorter temper than a lot of people, and it was very likely that Lady Templar could have gotten them both killed if she ran her mouth at Fugate too long.  He turned his attention from her and started away, wondering if there was still time to catch up to Batman and Robin and alert them to what had happened.

But a nasty surprise was waiting for him just outside the abandoned building.

He stepped foot outside and his stomach gave a small lurch like he’d missed a step.  A sleek, long black car was parked near the curb, a tall man in a blonde ponytail waiting next to the passenger-side back door.  Something about him seemed familiar, and if the scent that had wafted to Incubus’s nostrils was accurate, then his Komodo dragon olfactory senses were picking up the musky smell of wolf, mixed with expensive aftershave.

“Pendragon.” He muttered, tensing up.  What the heck was _that_ dickwad doing here?  Hadn’t he learned his lesson months ago, when the two of them had last fought?

“What’s going on?” Lady Templar asked behind him without warning, nearly making him jump.  He didn’t answer her, but kept his eyes on the car, frowning.  The man in the ponytail spotted him, and on making eye contact, he opened the back passenger door and made a jerking motion with his head for Incubus to get in.

“I don’t know,” he answered, “But do me a favor, Shakia?  Find Batman and tell him Lancelot Pendragon decided he needed to see me.  Tell him to contact me privately when I give him the signal.”

“Where are you goin’?”

“Right now?  I have no idea.  But this had better be good, or Pendragon’s going to regret the day he first met me.” Incubus snarled, balling his fists and stomping toward the car.  Anger burned in him as he thought about Lance Pendragon.  He’d fought the werewolf a few months ago, and though Pendragon had definitely come off the worse in that fight, Langstrom had been badly injured, worse than Incubus.  And the young vigilante wasn’t about to let that simply go unpunished.  He glared at Pendragon’s employee, who simply raised a sandy eyebrow, opened the back door, and inclined his head slightly.

“Your presence is required, sir.” Was all the man said.  Incubus snorted at him, but sidled into the seat anyway, pulling his leg clear before the door slammed shut behind him.  He was hardly surprised to find Lance sitting in the far end of the seat, his face fixed determinedly forward, his jaw clenched tight in anxiety.

“This had better be worth my time, Pendragon.  Because if you’re wasting it—“

“I’m not,” came the curt reply, “This concerns our sister.”

“Guen?” Incubus said, raising his eyebrows sharply.  “What about her?”

Lance remained quiet as the car started up and began to drive, still with his face fixed forward, but his hands slowly began to shift, his nails elongating into claws.

“Something has happened to her.  I was doing my best to track her before now, but I have been contacted by a…friend of hers.  We are both requested by Guen to arrive and see her.”

“What happened?”

For a long moment, it seemed that Incubus’s question wasn’t going to be answered, but finally, with agonizing slowness, Lance turned his head, his expression one of silent, frigid rage, and in it Logann Zeus read something he had feared and had never wanted to see come to pass.

“No.” He said, unable to accept what it was Lance hadn’t said.  “ _No_.”

“Yes.” Lance said in a voice of carefully controlled icy rage, returning his gaze forward.  “I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to fetch you otherwise.”

Normally Incubus would have used the opportunity to make a horrid joke about a werewolf using the word “fetch,” but the anger he had felt at Lance’s sudden appearance was starting to grow into a vengeful, white-hot rage that burned him from the inside-out.

“Batman had better hold me back,” he said in a hissing growl, feeling his control slip as his scales threatened to emerge for the first time in several years, “Or I’m going to _kill_ Milo.”

“From what I understand,” Lance huffed, “We’ll to have to wait our turn in line.”

*****

Wraith had taken charge for a while due to Guen imbibing a sip of vodka with the painkillers—Cassandra had insisted it was the best thing to help her at the moment—and was waiting for the arrival of some doctor named Matthew Thorne when her two half-brothers burst their way into the room.  Or really, it was Logann who came charging in, fully outfitted as Incubus, while Lance followed at a rapid power-walk.

“Guen!  Kiddo, what happened?  Talk to me!” Incubus said hoarsely, looking ready to start crying, but Wraith extended her wings as quickly as possible, forming a barrier between her and her brother.

“Don’t touch us.” Wraith growled, shifting her wings just enough that she was able to peer between the feathers and register the astonishment on both their faces at the sight of her.

“What _happened_?” Logann repeated, and this time there was a cracking in his voice, as though the twelve-year-old boy who had saved Guen years ago from Milo was straining to emerge from the body of a twenty-four-year-old man.

“Milo happened.” She spat, with more venom and hatred that she had ever felt before.  “That…stupid son of a…”

She slammed her fists down on either side of her in a rage, and tears began to trickle out of her eyes.  Slowly, she pulled her wings back, just a little, and tried to avoid looking at her brothers.  If either of them tried to touch her, then she would just extend her wings again, and if either of them tried pitying her—well, with how much her wings had grown, she was sure she could reach one of them and cuff them with a few feathers.  And if either of them said anything about her crying, well then, she _would_ reach out and clip them with her wings.

“Sister,” Lance said sharply, and she glanced up, furiously wiping tears out of her eyes, “Listen.  I know there are no words right now to express our pain for what you are feeling and what happened.  But there is a way that we can stop this from ever happening again.”

Promptly Wraith turned off her brain filter at that point and spat out a suggestion against Milo that was so violent and foul that both of her brothers turned a sickly gray-green and dropped their jaws.

“What?” she demanded afterward, crossing her arms angrily.  “Akira suggested it, and I for one, am personally all for it.”

While Incubus flushed somewhat pink, Lance regained his composure and arched his eyebrows in a way that suggested he was fairly impressed but wouldn’t vocally admit to it.

“Colorful though that idea is, I say we put a pin in it and leave it to be explored at a later date.  It isn’t what I meant.” He said in a calm way.  “I meant Langstrom.”

Immediately Incubus stiffened.  Wraith leaned forward eagerly.

“You mean that voice command password or whatever?”

“Precisely.”

“Forgive me if I’m not that quick to trust you, Lance, considering that the last time the password was of any importance, you tried to kill both Langstrom and me in order to get to it.”

She looked between her two brothers, feeling the tension rise, and this time she couldn’t stand it.  She swung her right wing hard, slapping one of them and then the other before they could properly register what had happened.

“Shut up.  Okay?  Shut up.  It doesn’t matter any more, okay?  It just doesn’t matter.” She hissed, tears starting up again, and she looked away from them.  “If Langstrom still knows the password and he can say it around all three of us, then we won’t have to worry about this any more.  We _shouldn’t_ have to.”  She glared at Lance for a second, searching his expression, but Guen’s mind was still trying so hard to avoid spiraling into a whirlwind of chaos and pain and anger and self-loathing that Wraith couldn’t focus enough.  “You’d better tell us right now if Dorian is going to be a problem.”

“He won’t be,” Lance answered coolly, rubbing his cheek where her wing had hit him, “You forget, Dorian doesn’t care about the whole thing.  Not the same way Milo does.”

At this, she looked away again, and with a sort of stubborn determination born from her raptor instincts, refused to dwell on emotional pain and physical injury.  She was _not_ going to give in to any of this self-loathing Guen was feeling.  She was _not_ going to just give in to desolation and melancholy.  It wasn’t going to be easy for either personality to heal, but Wraith put it from her mind.  They had do to something about this once and for all, and when that damn chip in her head finally was deactivated for good, then…then she would start the healing process.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Incubus asked in a sort of hollow way.

“We rendezvous at Pendragon manor.” Lance answered swiftly.  “The security system my father installed should help prevent Milo from getting anywhere close to us, and if you can move Langstrom there long enough, we should be able to find a place away from everything for him to say the password.”

“You say that like you’re anticipating an attack.”

“Aren’t you?”

“And like you expect us to have some kind of army at our backs to help out.”

“We do have an army,” Wraith said, raising her head and finally wiping away the tears for a while, “My friends.  You think they’re just going to stand by any more?  They’re going to help us if we ask them to.  And we might as well ask them, just so we all feel like it’s our idea.  Otherwise, you know they’re just going to show up at the manor anyway if they get the impression that Milo is going to come after the four of us.”

“True.” Incubus murmured.  He seemed like he was going to say something more, but after a moment he appeared to think better of it, closed his mouth, and shook his head.  She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say; probably something along the lines of she was handling this all rather well, given what she’d been through.  The thought of someone saying that to her gave her a sudden urge to spit in somebody’s face and try clawing their eyes out.  Her brother was probably lucky he’d been wise enough to keep it to himself.

No sooner had she thought that than she felt Guen in her mind, overcome with a desire to curl up and die once more, in sickened shame of such thoughts, and guilt washed over Wraith.

“And I’ll see to it that we have more back-up,” Lance said, pulling a smartphone from one of his pockets and tapping at it with a thumb, “I think you’d like Fantasia, sister; he has your sense of humor.”

“Great.” She muttered hollowly.  A second later, something occurred to her, and she looked up at him, rustling her wings to get his attention.  “Lance.  There’s a guy out there you might wanna talk to.  His name is Gary Myers, but he might try to introduce himself as his ‘villain handle.’  He’s got some dungeons-and-dragons hang-up.  He’s been trying to find a way to talk to you for a while now.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, but walked from the room without a word, stowing the phone back in his pocket and moving with a certain gait that she guessed he used for business meetings.  For a long moment, things fell silent in the room again, and it was only when Logann stood up awkwardly to leave that she extended a wing again to prevent his leaving.

“W-wait a second.”

His worried expression never left him, and he watched patiently.  Guilt threatened to overwhelm her again, guilt at the trouble she had caused him and their mother with her leaving, and with it came the worry of what Clio might think when she learned what had happened to her daughter.  Still, Wraith sucked in a shaky breath, beginning to tremble.

“Logann…I can’t really apologize to you for everything that’s happened—“

“Sis, just take it easy, okay?  What’s happened here…this isn’t your fault, okay?  I don’t care what anyone else tries to tell you.  This is not your fault.  This didn’t happen because of something you did or anything like that.  This should _not_ have happened, and nobody deserves that, not even you.  So I don’t want to hear anything come out of your mouth—anything—that even remotely implies that you deserved what happened to you.  Because you didn’t.  Not back then, not now, not _ever_.”

And for a moment, she was eight years old again, and Logann, her older brother with the twinkling blue eyes and the easy smile, the boy who laughed and treated all of their life in the Lion Research Institute like a game, was smashing a chair over the head of her personal boogeyman before reaching out to her with wide, terrified eyes and an outstretched hand.

The moment passed, but she knew what she had to do.

“Logann, when we…when we meet up for this…can you please do me a really big favor?  Please?”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he nodded.

“Anything, kiddo.”

“I want you to bring Batman with you.”

His eyes opened wider and he asked in a quiet voice, “Batman?  Are you sure?”

“Yes.  I-I want to talk to him about something.  If he’ll listen, that is.”

Something about Incubus’s face softened, and a weary smile slowly creased his features.

“Alright,” he said with a small nod, “I’ll see what I can do.  For right now, you need to rest.  Heal a bit, okay?”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to completely heal from this.”

“It’ll take time, Wraith.  It’s going to probably take a lot of time.  But you’re going to heal.  I know you will.  I’ve got faith that you will.  You’re stubborn that way.”

She tried to smile, but there was little heart in her attempt, and she simply leaned back on her pillows, staring at the ceiling until she fell asleep once more.


	18. Freedom Spoken

The phone rang shrilly into the silence, on and on.  His heart pounded as he jumped in fright from the initial ring, but then he stared at the phone, waiting for it to go silent.

It didn’t.

Snarling, he picked it up and answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

“What do you want?” He demanded.

“Temper, temper, Achilles.” Came an all too-smooth, smugly superior voice in his ear, a voice he knew all too well.  “One would think you wouldn’t be so sensitive.  In fact, I was rather expecting you to be acting insufferably, all things considered.”

Milo’s nails scratched against the leather of his chair as he flexed his hand several times.

“So you know, then.  How?” He asked coldly.

“Lancelot,” Dorian answered simply, “He called me and told me what happened.  Really, don’t act so surprised; I had thought you would have put two and two together, Achilles.  Are you not the demon triumphant?”

“Not that that’s any of _your_ business, _Emile_ , but what do you think?”

“I find you disgusting and repellant more than I ever did before.” Dorian’s normally charming voice suddenly went icy cold, the edge of it sharp and judgmental.  “You’re an irrational animal, Achilles, and I find it appalling that you set out to do something you once tried years ago.”

“Set out to do and _succeeded_ where I hadn’t years before.”

“You’re repulsive.” Dorian spat, sounding rather sickened indeed.

“Repulsive or not,” Milo replied, finally feeling smug enough to let it come through in his voice, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the table in front of him, “I believe the game belongs to me, Dorian.  I got what I wanted.  You bet against the wrong man.”

“Oh, but the game is not over yet.  You should know better.”

He froze, nearly toppling the chair over.  His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he had to think and consider what he was going to say next, for Dorian was still dangerous.

“Isn’t it?”

“Of course not,” Dorian’s voice took on an airy tone once more, “You forgot about our third player, Professor Strange.  He still has a bet weighing against the odds.”

“Hard for me to remember him when neither of you will tell me what this bet _is_ , Emile.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot help you there.  You see, if I tell you, then I automatically lose my stake in the game.  Those were the terms he set.”

“Of course they are.” Milo spat, his nails starting to leave grooves in the leather.  “I can promise you this, Dorian: whatever double-cross you’re planning against me, it’s going to fail.  I don’t care if you think this game is over yet or not.  There is nothing you stand to gain at this point and the same goes for Professor Strange.  I.  Have.  Won.”

For a long moment there was silence.  And then Dorian laughed.

He was never a loud man, Dorian, and when he laughed it was always something of a soft chuckle.  But there was always something about his laugh that incited panic in Milo, something in it that said there was something Dorian knew that nobody else could guess, and more often than not, he was always right.

There was a click, and the call ended.  Milo pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it for a wrong moment, like it was the phone’s fault that any of this had happened.  Scoffing, he mulled over the conversation in his head, thinking about what Dorian had told him, and largely came to the conclusion the old bastard was simply a sore loser and always preferred to feel like he had the upper hand.  Well, not this time!  There was nothing Dorian could do at this point that could possibly—

Something nagged at the back of Milo’s thoughts.  Not doubt necessarily, but something, some small detail was trying to make itself remembered, and he couldn’t think for the life of him what it was.  But he had the feeling it had to do with Dorian insisting the game wasn’t over.

*****

“Baby Bird?” A familiar voice echoed in the blurring colors overhead.  Tensing, Guen shot out a hand and groped for something that wasn’t there.

“D-don’t touch me…”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” came the snort, sounding halfway impressed, “You would have strangled me if I didn’t move in time.  And I wasn’t going to touch you.”

“Good…” she sighed weakly, shutting her eyes and burrowing deeper into her pillows.

“You’ve got to get up, though.”  He insisted.  “The rendezvous with your friends is in two hours.  And there are voicemails waiting for you, from Pendragon.  He’s probably wanting to make sure you’re good to go, or that we know how to get to this place or something.  You’d better make sure you call him back, Baby Bird.”

She opened her eyes with a groan and carefully sat up in the bed, her joints creaking and popping.  She shifted her wings, trying to adjust them so they sat more naturally, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her feathers.  They were indeed, gray as everyone had been saying they were, and something about it was depressing.  It was almost like a nail in a coffin, somehow, and she didn’t know why.

“Papa Bear?” She asked, turning to look at Two-Face, who regarded her with an expression that, if it could not be called gentle, it was certainly softer than how he looked at most other people.  “Are you going to lecture me if I’m completely honest with you right now and say that I wish I was dead?”

With a sigh, he reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing his coin, and began flipping it in the air and catching it over and over.  He was feeling tense about the whole thing, if her guess was correct.  But why?  Why the hesitation?

“No,” he answered in the most tender growl he could manage, “I ain’t gonna lecture you.  Considering the circumstances, were I in your shoes, I would feel the same way.  But you can let this kill ya, or you can let it forge ya.”

“Forge me?”

“Into something to be feared, to be reckoned with.”

“It doesn’t feel like this will ever be that.”

A small half-smile twisted up the unscarred corner of his mouth as he flipped the coin into the air again.  He caught it without looking, and something in his eyes softened.  “Probably not.  But you have to go through fire and get to your weakest point before you can be shaped and molded into something powerful.  Trust me, Baby Bird.”

He flipped the coin one last time, reaching up with his hand and snatching it out of the air.  He lowered his fist and moved closer to her, so she could see.  He curled his fingers to reveal the coin in his palm, good side up.

“You’re going to be a force to be reckoned with.  Milo’ll wish he’d never been born.”

*****

“Rendezvous with Miss Pendragon and Dent is in roughly two hours,” Twitch said, glancing at a message on his phone before looking up at his young friend seated at the small table, “Miss Ink?  Are you alright?”

She shook her head, automatically it seemed, and continued to stare off into space.  There was tightness about her, a sort of guarded sense of anxiety and tension that indicated she was having a hard time trying to hold it all together.  She shook ever so slightly now and then, and her knuckles and lips were drawn and white, while black ink poured steadily from _both_ of her eyes.  Hesitating slightly, Twitch approached her and crouched down, his knees creaking in protest as he gently stretched out a trembling hand.

“Ink?” He prompted calmly.  “Please, Miss Ink, can you hear me?  It’s me, Twitch.”

Something this time seemed to get through to her, and she blinked, turning to look at him, the ink receding in its flow from her left eye.  With a bit of a sniffle, she idly brushed her face with her hoodie’s sleeve, which only caused it to smear over her face.

“Y-yeah, Twitch,” she answered, “S-sorry.  Sorry, I just…I’m…not okay right now.”

Giving a bit of sympathetic sigh, he withdrew a handkerchief from the inside pocket in his jacket and handed it to her, indicating her face.  With another sniff, she exhaled as though steadying herself, and then accepted the cloth and began to wipe her face methodically.

“Miss Ink,” he began in the firm-yet-fair tones of a father, “L-listen.  You know that what—what ha-happened to Miss Pendragon is _not_ your fault.”

“I know it’s not my fault,” she answered, her eyes going somewhat glassy again as she scowled, “It’s that dirtbag’s fault.  He did that to Guennie.”

Twitch’s eyebrows rose slightly.  “Please, Ink,” he said pleadingly, “Please remember that he _will_ be brought to justice.  But we need you here; the professor needs you, and Miss Pendragon also needs you.”

She turned and smiled at him, then sniffled a little and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze, a daughter trying to reassure her father in return for reassurance given.

“Don’t worry, Twitch,” she answered, “I won’t forget.  I promise.”

*****

Fists slammed down against the bar, several times, and the glasses nearby rattled ominously.  May reached for one automatically, as though worried it would be the first to break.

“I should have been there!”

Nobody said anything in response as The Riddler raggedly sucked in breaths between his clenched teeth, exhaling through his nose like a bull preparing to charge.  His eyes were a furious red, but he had yet to shed any tears, and nobody was sure it would be polite to watch him cry.

“I should have _been_ there!”

“Boss, boss, calm down—“ Rook tried to jump in, and everyone was secretly grateful that for once the gunman was too concerned with keeping his boss calm to get angry himself.  Ragdoll was hanging near Magpie, who herself looked ready to cry.  Banshee stayed near her friend as well, glaring at nothing as she polished one of her Uzis over and over.  Erin sat in a stool near the bar, quite cried out but silent, her eyes fixed on the floor while Jervis kept one arm around her at all times and glared at nearly anyone who tried to approach them both.

“I will _not_ calm down, Robert!” Edward snarled, spinning around so fast he wound up taking a swing at the younger man, who had the sense of mind to duck.  “I should have _been_ there, and I wasn’t, and look what’s happened!”

“Honey,” Trick Deck said in a brisk voice, “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen any more than the rest of us.  There’s no sense in self-loathing; it won’t do any of us any good right now.  The same goes for the rest of you.”

Erin, Banshee and Magpie all looked up at this, exchanged slightly guilty looks, and then turned away again.  Edward however, looked only more furious, if anything.  He kept one eye on Rook in the event the gunner tried to do anything, and began to grip his question-mark cane as though he was preparing to snap it in half.  It was rare that anyone had seen him so furious, and this sort of violent temper was unsettling.

“So then, now what do we do?” Vanessa asked, looking up at the older woman for direction.  Akira and Erin looked up as well, appearing somewhat expectant, and May fidgeted.

“What are you asking me for?” She demanded somewhat snappishly, her face flushing.  “You all got the text messages from Mr. Pendragon, didn’t you?  We’re going to wait until it’s time to meet up with Guen and De—Two-Face, and then we’re going to stay with them as an escort at Mr. Pendragon’s family manor.”

“May, are you alright?” Erin asked suspiciously, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’ve been out of sorts, lately.” Banshee said, lowering her gun and inching a bit closer to inspect her friend with a critical eye.  “Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I saw you drink.”

“I drank at the reunion with Guen.” Came the quick reply.

“You barely touched your drink.” Erin countered, also beginning to look suspicious.  “In fact, I’m pretty sure you pretended to drink it most of the time.  You barely even sipped it.  Have you really been that long without any—“

“L-look, can we focus on the problem at hand?” Trick Deck cut her off loudly.

“Yes, _let’s_.” The Riddler growled to nobody in particular, and everyone fell quiet.  “We’re going to go meet up with Guen and her brothers, Doctor Langstrom will rectify this problem, and if Professor Milo dares show his damn face—“

“He’s dead.” Several voices chimed in, finishing the thought.

Wraith came to the conclusion she didn’t need Lance’s super werewolf hearing or whatever it was called in order to deduce what was happening on the other end of the phone.  Try as he might, Logann was not going to convince Doctor Langstrom that this plan was safe.  She didn’t need to understand what was being said in order to tell Langstrom was against the idea; his faint tones of protest were more than enough to go by.

“He’s not going to come, is he?” She muttered.

“Keep calm, sis,” Incubus answered in a low voice, “He’ll come, but he’s not happy and he doesn’t think this is safe at all.”

“Can’t say I blame him.” She huffed.

“Can’t say that I do either,” he replied, “But we don’t have a choice.”

She scowled to herself and hung up.  Her mind was still threatening to dissolve into self-loathing chaos, and what was worse, she knew that it was getting harder not to let that happen.  Part of her _wanted_ to let it happen.  She needed to be given time to go absolutely wild with fury, to break and shatter things around her and cry and scream with rage and pain.

From somewhere deep within, a surprising response of clarity came to her from her other personality.

_Not yet,_ Guen interjected softly, _not yet.  I want to fall to pieces too, but we can’t yet.  And you can’t let it happen, Wraith.  I still need you here._

A tear began to roll down her cheek as she hugged her arms.  Here she was, fighting the urge to be selfish, and Guen was trying her best to comfort Wraith in spite of their shared pain.

_Thanks,_ she thought back weakly, _and I won’t abandon you, Guen._

This time, she felt a sense of weary relief and allowed it to spread from her heart outward.  Thank God she had an ally in herself.

“Priestess of Horus?”

She glanced up, unsurprised to see that Gary and Ramsey had entered the room.  Ramsey was dressed again in his “Mummy” get-up, and Gary was wearing an ominous, forbidding set of black robes and mismatched leather armor that would have been intimidating, had he been wearing the cowl of the robes over his head and she couldn’t see his Reeboks peeking out.  As she watched, Ramsey looked less like a lost puppy than normal, and lines of worry and concern were etched on his face.  Worry shone in Gary’s eyes too, but his face and his jaw were squarely set in grim, obstinate resolve.

“It’s time.” He spoke for both of them, and Ramsey gave a bob of his head to confirm.  She drew in a deep breath and nodded slowly in response, extending her wings to shield her sides as she walked out of the room, passing between them.  They followed quietly, taking care not to come into contact with her, and the three of them walked out to the black-and-white car waiting for them.  Several hired thugs were standing around, each looking shiftily at the girl with wings, but a quick glare from Wraith had them turning slightly pale.  Two-Face was leaning against the car, frowning at a cigar in one hand and rubbing his coin in the other hand as though about to flip it, but the moment he looked up and made eye contact with Wraith, he slipped the cigar back into his hidden jacket pocket and gave the coin a flip.

“You ready, Baby Bird?”

She nodded again, not trusting herself to say anything.

“Your brother sent the address?”

She gave another nod, her lips set in a thin line.

“Good,” he said gruffly, smiling slightly and looking around to all the ‘hired help’, “Now boys, I want you to listen real close.  You’re gonna follow us in the van.  When we get near our destination, I want you all to jump out and create a flash mob for a distraction, to keep that slimeball from finding us and coming after Baby Bird.  Dungeonmaster, Mummy, I’m splitting you two up.  Dungeonmaster’s comin’ with us, Mummy, you’re with the boys.  Boys, you still got the soapbox crate you went to pick up?”

One of the hired thugs, holding up said soapbox, spoke confirmation in spite of how puzzled he looked, and Ramsey frowned and crossed his arms.

“Why am I going with the plebeians?” He demanded, just as several of the thugs asked what the soapbox had to do with creating a flash mob.  Two-Face grinned.

“When you get the signal to stop, I want you all to give Ramsey a megaphone and that soapbox.  Pharaoh, I want you to start telling Gotham about your grand plans to revive Egypt and enlighten us all with your knowledge as our god-picked monarch.”

Ramsey’s face lit up and his eyes went huge as an uncontrollable smile broke out over his features.  Gary inched away from him in alarm and Wraith tried to smile a little.

“Guess Christmas came early for you, huh Ram-Ram?” She gave a weak chuckle before climbing into the car, having to tuck her wings in tight to fit.  Gary climbed into the front passenger seat, while Two-Face took the backseat next to Wraith, radiating dangerous confidence and giving her a look of pride.

“Force to be reckoned with, kiddo.”

*****

“Does anybody know where we’re going?” Magpie demanded hotly, trying to get some wiggle room in.  Her elbow was cramping something awful, and she needed to adjust it.

“If any of y’all say crazy,” Banshee added threateningly, “I’mma pop a cap in yo’ ass.”

Jervis, who had mercifully taken the wheel from Erin, opened his mouth to speak.

“ _DON’T SAY IT_.” Both girls snarled.

“Not to worry, dolls,” Trick Deck answered rather wearily, scrolling through the menu on her phone and looking fatigued while she sweated bullets, “I’ve got the address for the manor.  I figured it would pay to keep ties open with Mister Pendragon for business.”

“That may not matter,” Erin broke in abruptly, jabbing her finger as she pointed out the road ahead, “We’ve got a roadblock!  I don’t think we can get to the manor now.”

“By Jove, is this some sort of protest we’ve run into?” Jervis spluttered as he slowed the Wonderland-themed van to a halt.  All of the girls clambered forward to get a better view of the huge crowd milling around a single figure on an elevated stand, and for the first time in several minutes, Ink spoke up.

“It’s _Ramsey_!” She said in relief.  They inched the van forward a bit, rolling down the windows.  It was indeed the huge British-Egyptian man, and he spoke in a booming voice as he stood atop a soapbox, constantly gesturing to his chest dramatically.

“—yet they continue to feed you all lies, my precious, wandering lambs!  This is why I, your open-minded, illustrious Pharaoh, shall seek to lead you into a new renaissance!  This dismal abyss shall be transformed into a bountiful paradise of glorious enlightenment under my tolerant and lavish reign!”

“You know, he’s so dead serious, I can’t decide whether to laugh or be afraid.” Magpie remarked, raising her eyebrows slowly as some of the rough-looking men standing around Ramsey approached the van, looking mildly put out.  Jervis quickly leaned out the window, scowling as his hands twitched toward the breast pocket of his coat, doubtless reaching for some of his mind control cards in case of trouble.

“You all the scary ghost-girl’s friends?” One of them asked, and with that, Jervis relaxed, at least marginally.

“You bet we are!” Magpie and Banshee both shouted.

“Don’t suppose there’s any chance you fellows will let us through, is there?” Trick Deck asked.

“Oh please, please say you will!” Erin begged.

“Keep your shirts on, girls,” the men huffed amongst themselves, “We have orders to let you all through.  Boss was specific about that.”

“We’re not the only ones!” Ink spoke up quickly.

“Right!” Jervis said, as though only just remembering, and he addressed the ringleader of them directly as Ramsey continued to theatrically speak of his plans for ‘New Egypt’.  “Listen gentlemen, two of my good friends will be coming through here separately.  I’m sure you’ve heard of The Scarecrow and The Riddler?  I would advise you let them through.  The former is transporting the latter, and you do not want to get in the Riddler’s way when he’s in a mood.”

*****

“You mean to tell me that _your_ dad made _our_ dad’s security system?” Wraith asked Gary incredulously as he studied the stationary knights in the ballroom.  He gave a small nod, his eyes flicking onto the Pendragon siblings briefly before he jabbed a finger at a point on the nearest knight.  His nail poked at a long, thin cut made in the shape of the letter ‘m’, protruding from a carved ring, not too unlike an anarchy symbol.

“See that?” He asked in a low voice.  “That’s the Myers family signature.  Dad used it to mark everything he made, because he considered his work to be art.  I put the same signature on my own automatons.”

“Automatons?” Lance echoed interestedly.  “Then these are actually robots?”

“And they’re designed to interface with _Gerard_?” Wraith scoffed.

“Seems like it.” Gary glanced from the knight automaton down at the old letter open in one hand, and behind him, the blonde manservant looked ashen and mildly afraid.

“But I don’t know the first thing about operating these!” He protested.

“Lucky you have me along, then.” Gary retorted, moving from that knight to the hidden computer.  “I can probably reset most of the parameters on the system, but that will take a while.  In the meantime, you’ve got to interface with them.  You won’t have to worry about controlling them or anything. You’re just going to input a few commands into the computer, which will transfer to each of the automatons, and the helm will allow you to jump between the automaton sensors, so you can see what each of them are doing.  Think of them as…moving security cameras.  Moving security cameras that have swords and can swing them.”

Wraith shook her head as the two discussed the matter, and took to examining each of the automaton knights, mostly to keep her mind preoccupied more than anything.

“Why do they all look different?”

“They’re each modeled after a different knight from the round table.” Lance asked, stepping somewhat closer to her.  “I believe this one is Sir Kay.”

“So who are the white-and-gold guy and the black-and-green guy?” She asked, indicating two of the armored automatons closest to the winding staircase that led to the upper floor.

“I believe those are Arthur and Mordred.” 

“I thought Mordred wasn’t one of Arthur’s knights.” She said in a low voice, a chill running down her spine.  “So why is there a Mordred automaton?”

“I do not know,” Lance replied, “But perhaps the late Mister Myers believed our father’s enemy was something of his own Mordred.  I wouldn’t sit there pondering on it too long, though.  Something about the Mordred automaton certainly unsettles me.  Best not to think on it much.  Here, allow me to show you my favorite.”

He motioned for her to follow him over to an automaton with armor decorated in swirling patterns, bearing a pole-arm rather than a sword, which was simply a decorative thing sheathed at the automaton’s side.  Something inexplicable about this knight made Wraith realize why her brother was fond of this particular machine.

“It’s Lancelot, isn’t it?”  She asked.  “I’m not surprised he’s your favorite.”

Lance fixed her with a long stare, and slowly a smile began to spread over his face.

“Don’t despair, my sister.  After all of this…who knows?  Perhaps in time, as you heal, you’ll find your own Sir Lancelot.”

“What are you talking about?” She huffed.  “ _You’re_ Lancelot!”

“Only in name, the same as you’re only Gwenevere in name to me.  I mean, perhaps you shall still find your own great, rebellious romance in a brave, dangerous knight.   _Your_ Lancelot.”

Heat flooded her cheeks as she looked up at the automaton.  “My own Sir Lancelot?  That’s rich!  You’re a sappy romantic, you know that, right?  And besides, I’ve already got the Sir Lancelot to my Queen Gwenevere; it’s Eddie.”

“How do you know Nygma is your Lancelot and not your Arthur?”

She turned in shock, the wind rushing out of her lungs as she looked at her brother’s curious face and registered his eyebrow raised in challenge.  She worked her mouth helplessly, feeling like a fish out of water, and before she could think of a retort, her phone buzzed with a text message.  In order to avoid answering her brother more than anything, she pulled it out as Lance went to peek out one of the windows at the driveway.

“Ahh, it appears your friends are here,” he remarked cheerily as the automatons started to come online and move off their pedestals.  She barely heard him.  Her throat constricted and went dry as she read and re-read the message on her phone.

“There, the parameters are set.” Gary announced as the automatons milled about, heading for the exits.  “They’re going to patrol outside the house for us, and Gerard shouldn’t have a problem c—hey, ghost of the west side!  You listening?  What’s going on?”

Her hands began to shake in fear, and she barely registered that her friends were entering the manor at the far end of the east wing.

“Guen?” Lance asked tentatively.

“We-we’ve got a problem.” She stuttered, her eyes glassy with fear as she stretched out her hand with the phone, showing her brother.  “Milo’s tailing Logann and Langstrom.”

Lance’s eyes widened sharply only to narrow sharply a second later as he let out a growl.  His canine teeth abruptly became rather prominent as his ears began to stretch and his lips pulled back, a snarl building in his chest.  Voices sounded behind them as the other girls entered the ballroom and abruptly drew back in surprise at the sight of the young werewolf.

“Whoa!  Lance, chill!” Banshee said at once, holding up her hands weakly as behind her, Jervis moved to shield Erin from any possible attack.

“Lancelot Pendragon does not ‘chill’,” his voice came out as a near-indecipherable growl as he turned to his sister’s friends, his hands rapidly turning into massive, fur-covered claws, “Professor Milo is following Incubus and Doctor Langstrom here.”

Fury broke out on the faces of Banshee, Magpie, and Trick Deck.  Ink let out a harsh noise as black fluid rose from both her eyes like many tiny, writhing snakes.  Wraith registered hardly any of it as she read the next text message.

“Langstrom thinks they’ll be able to give him the slip, but he doesn’t know for how long.” She muttered hollowly.  “And Eddie still isn’t here.”

“Jonathan’s bringing him along.” Erin squeaked, looking at Lance in terror.

“Very well, then.” Lance’s voice returned slightly to normal, but his partial-transformation didn’t recede.  “Time to enact a strategy.  Gerard and Mister Myers here have the security system up and running.  There is a cache behind the winding staircase where they’re going to keep out of sight.  I think that two more can fit back there if needed.”

“That’ll be Erin and me.” Jervis said at once.

“We’ll need someone to keep their eyes open in the event Professor Milo slips past the initial security and enters the house.”

“Akira and I’ll keep our eyes peeled for you.” Magpie said gravely.  “I’m certain we can find some place to hide; we’ll just need to keep in contact.”

At this, Gary tossed two small devices, one to the girls, one to Lance.

“Two-way low-volume multi-frequency radio system.  You’re welcome.”

Wraith glanced up briefly at his smug smile before looking to Ink, who stared back at her.  The blonde girl looked ready to tear something apart, but for a second, her fierce expression softened as she stared back at her friend.

“I want Ink covering our backs.” The winged girl murmured quietly.   “Her and May.”

“I agree.” Lance gowled.  “If the rest of you would please slip into place?  Miss Ink, Miss Markowitz, please follow us.”

As the others moved away at a rapid pace, he motioned for his sister to follow, and they set off up the winding stair, a very angry, growling Ink, and a very ashen, grim-faced Trick Deck following them a few steps behind.  The upper landing was a long hallway stretching out at either end of the ballroom below, leading off into several different rooms, all with closed doors.  They took to the left-hand hall, Lance almost taking it at a run.

“There’s a hidden roof access passage in upper south study,” he explained, speaking low and fast, “Guenhivyre and I shall head on up to the roof.  There are plenty of spy panels in the study as well that you can hide in, if you so choose.”

“I’d rather be up there on the roof too.” Ink managed to say in a steady voice.

“Then you shall be,” Lance remarked, as Wraith added, “It’d be a comfort to me.”

Ink turned then and looked at her again, her fierce expression slipping back into one of compassion for just a moment before she nodded.  Wraith’s heart pounded with adrenaline, and she itched for the chance to get in another fight with Milo.

_Don’t,_ Guen’s thoughts cut into her raptor urges instantly, _I don’t ever want to see him again, even if it’s to cause him pain.  I don’t want to be anywhere near him._

*****

“I don’t want her anywhere near him,” came the snarl from the passenger side of the seat, “Not ever again.”

The Scarecrow risked a quick glance at his friend as he kept his foot on the acceleration, before pulling the car into a screeching turn.  To say that the Riddler looked livid would have been an understatement—to Crane’s knowledge, he had never seen Edward look this murderous before.  Not that he could exactly blame the man.  Between Nygma and Ink, Crane was certain that—if the odds remained in their favor and Batman didn’t show up in time—this Professor Milo was going to die.

Idly, he wondered if he would be able to see the terror in Milo’s eyes from a distance.

There was a small chime, a cell phone alerting them to a new message, and the Riddler shifted in his seat.  The Scarecrow didn’t bother to look, keeping his eyes on the road, until there was a stifled curse and he was ordered to drive faster.  He turned and frowned in mild confusion.

“Incubus and Langstrom are ahead of us, and they believe Milo was tailing them,” Edward spat furiously, “Now _speed up_.”

“Watch your tone, Nygma.” He warned, but he kept his foot down on the gas.

*****

The automaton knights were good, but they weren’t perfect, and they had several flaws.  Banshee and Magpie didn’t know or see much of these flaws, but when a too-familiar figure slipped into the house in the short span of time that came between two of the knights switching position, they found this out rather quick.  Incubus and Langstrom had gotten there first, the young vigilante shielding the scientist as best he could, and they slipped inside, the robots letting them through on recognition.  But they had barely been in for more than a few minutes when another figure slipped in behind them.  It took Banshee a moment to recover from the shock, but she was already pulling her guns out to aim.

“Wait!” Magpie hissed, pushing her guns back down.  “We don’t know if you could hit someone else.”

Banshee wanted to argue that the chances were highly unlikely and Milo wasn’t much of a loss to the human race, but her friend was already using the two-way radio to contact Lance.

“Mr. Pendragon?!  Incubus and Langstrom are on their way up, but you’d better make this quick!  Milo’s right behind them!”

*****

Lance stared for a long moment at the radio, his face stony.

“But they’re going to stop him, aren’t they?” his sister asked shakily.  He turned and stared at her, pity welling up inside him.  She had apparently switched back to Guen, and her original personality was much less confidant than Wraith’s natural brashness.  He was mildly curious as to why she had abruptly switched back, but decided against asking.

“I don’t know.” He answered quietly.

“I know that Jervis and Erin probably won’t stop him, and I don’t know if Gary or Gerard would be up for a fight, but surely Trick Deck’s not going to let him through, right?” She asked, her pleading tone bordering on desperation.

“Oh, I hope she does.” Ink said in an uncharacteristically lethal tone.  “I want to give him a piece of my mind.”

A door slammed, and the siblings jumped.

“We’re here!  We’re here!” Incubus panted, helping along Doctor Langstrom, who was clutching at a stitch in his side.  “Come on, guys!”

Guen and Lance ran over to them at once, crowding around Langstrom as he tried to catch his breath, inhaling and exhaling in short, shallow gasps.

“Langstrom!” Guen squeaked in worry, talking fast as she normally did when she was under stress and anxiety.  “Are you alright?  What’s happened to you?!  What’s going on??”

“I-I’m fine,” he panted, “Just out of shape.  Fr-Francine’s going to kill me.”

Ink moved closer to their little huddle, casting suspicious looks toward the door leading onto the roof, but she stayed quiet and on the alert.

“Good,” Langstrom sighed, “You’re all here.  You can all hear me, right?”

“Yes,” Lance replied with a nod, “We can.”

Incubus shot him a distrusting glare before looking back to the scientist, clearly worried, and asked, “Is there anything you need us to do, Langstrom?”

He shook his head slowly and gave a weary smile, answering, “No.  No, all the three of you need do is hear me.”

They leaned in closer, and Guen’s heart started to pound.  She extended her wings around them all as best she could, breaking out into a nervous sweat as her mouth went dry, waiting to hear what he had to say next.

“ _At libere dici, non effundatur sanguis_ ,” he exhaled, as though finally releasing a huge weight he had been carrying with him this whole time, before adding in English, “‘Let blood not be spilled, but freedom be spoken.’”

There was an abrupt buzz of vibration in Guen’s head, which stopped almost as fast as it had started, and she shook her head rapidly, trying to rid herself of the odd feeling it gave her.  Blinking, she looked up and saw her two half-brothers doing the same.

“That’s it?” Incubus asked, puzzled.

“That’s it.” Langstrom confirmed, nodding once.

“Was that…Latin?” Guen asked, something stirring in her mind.  “The password—“

“Yes, Miss Pendragon,” he answered, “It was indeed Latin.  You and Mister Pendragon and Logann here all learned a little Latin when you were in the Lion Research Institute under my care.  It was something obscure that Milo never knew of, and Dorian didn’t care to look deeply into, which is why I set the command password to kill the chips in Latin.  I daresay you still remembered bits and pieces of learning some Latin.”

“But what did the password mean?” Ink piped up, and they budged over a bit to allow her some room.  “It sounded like it was supposed to mean something important.”

Langstrom looked at her for a long moment, then to each of them in turn, his eyes settling lastly on Guen.

“The Lion Research Institute was an establishment meant to hide the true intentions behind its creation,” he explained in a heavy voice, “Roland Daggett…I’m sure you’ve heard of him. It was one of his earlier ambitions, a project designed to combine humans with properties of predators into superhuman weapons, mercenaries that he could sell and profit off of.  He wasn’t the only one in the business either, as he had a couple of competitors…but Daggett was wily.  A leading member of the competition was found out, and shortly afterward, the plug on the project was pulled.  You three are alive because I got you two out, and Dorian looked after you, Pendragon…but the other mutants created in the experiments were…terminated, disposed of.”

Bile rose in Guen’s throat as she listened, and she remained secretly glad that her stomach was largely empty, otherwise she would have vomited.

“The password was a failsafe that I and several other scientists thought of, for the sake of freeing anyone we could.  You were created to cause bloodshed, and people like Milo didn’t want you to be free from your chips, the things that forced you to remain weapons.  I picked something for the password that he wouldn’t think of; freeing you from that fate.”

Silence fell among them.  For another long moment, no one spoke—

And then shouts and screams were heard rising to the roof level.

Startled, Langstrom backed up, Incubus moving to shield him.  Guen moved aside at Lance’s urging, though it was somewhat unnecessary; Ink looked enraged once more, and it was more than enough to convince them both to move.

A door below slammed.  There was another scream.  Falling blows were heard.  Footfalls were running up the stairs—

Milo burst into view, skidding across the rooftop, already bloodied, with bruises starting to blossom on his face.  Emerging from the doorway behind him was the Riddler, looking furious beyond almost all comparison, with the Scarecrow and Trick Deck following close behind.

“W-wait!” Milo rasped.  “I-I give up!  Stop!”

The bile in Guen’s throat threatened to force itself out of her mouth.

Riddler’s question-mark cane spun in his hands as he stared down at Milo in utter hate, but a second later he glanced to Ink and spat in rage, “He’s yours, Inky.”

In one swift motion, Ink surged forward, the blonde-haired young woman vanishing as a roaring, vicious ink-beast took her place and swung a huge, clawed fist down at the scientist.  Milo rolled away with a yelp of fear, but was snatched up by an inky claw and flung halfway across the roof.  He shouted incoherently in pain, then started to get to his knees.  His eyes sought out Guen, and he spat angrily.

“Guenhivyre, defend me.”

She glared at him, hate and pain and misery warring inside her.

“ _No_.” She growled back.  His eyes shot open wide and she smiled the most poisonous, viciously triumphant smile she could.  For a moment, she and Wraith were almost of one mind again, and felt grim satisfaction at watching him at the mercy of her raging friend.

A second later, one of the ink-beast’s fists slammed into Milo, and he nearly went flying, but its long black claws bounced him into the air.  He arced head-over-heels, yelling, before the ink-beast caught him and opened its maw threateningly, letting out a low, rumbling growl.  He began to scream in fear.

Nobody moved to stop the scene unfolding, until—

“Ink, put him down.”

The voice spoke with a tone of utter command, in spite of how calm it sounded.  The ink-beast shut its jaw in surprise, and everyone turned, stunned, to see a dark shape perched on top of the entrance to the roof.  Batman lowered himself and slowly approached the towering black monster, which continued to hold Milo aloft.

“Batman!  Thank God you’re here!” He nearly sobbed with relief, but the sound of his voice grabbed Ink’s attention and she gave a short, warning roar into his face.

“What he said, but for totally different reasons.” Incubus said, relaxing at the sight of the vigilante, and to a degree, the others all relaxed too, though they kept their distance from the dark knight as he approached Milo and the ink-beast.

“Put him down.” Batman repeated, his voice gentle but firm.  “I know you’re in there and you can hear me, so listen to me, Ink.  I will take Milo in, and we will see justice done.  Let him go, now.”

The creature seemed to pout slightly, but immediately opened its claws and allowed Milo to fall none-too-gently onto the surface of the roof, where he landed on his shoulder with a sickening, wet crack and let out a shriek.  The ink receded almost immediately and the young blonde woman was left standing in its place, crossing her arms as she glared down at Milo.

“Ink.” The Scarecrow said calmly, beckoning her to his side.  She went, though her eyes continued to issue writhing black fluid and never left the cowering, weeping scientist.  Incubus went to Batman, and together they hauled Milo to his feet, slapping cuffs on him.

“Incubus, I want you and Lady Templar to escort _this_ to Arkham Asylum.”

“Arkham?” The younger vigilante repeated in surprise, and Milo spat furiously.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Batman.  Arkham’s not your personal little collection box, and I’m _perfectly_ sane.” He snapped, but his angry bluster vanished a second later as Batman loomed over him, glaring daggers.

“What you are,” he said coldly, “Is scum.  And you probably deserve no less than what they all would have given you.  But justice comes first, even for human garbage.”

With that, Incubus smiled bitterly and smacked Milo in the back of the head to get him moving.  The chemist swore rapidly under his breath and began to limp, and Lance took this as a cue to lead, striding importantly through the door back to the rest of the manor first.  Incubus and Milo followed at a distance, the former still giving the latter sharp jabs in the back to keep him moving.  Guen watched, feeling strangely numb, until Milo paused long enough to turn and give her a venomous look.

On an impulse, her personalities switched, and Wraith snapped her wings open, taking a lunging step forward and stretching out her arms menacingly, giving a snarl.

Milo screamed, losing his footing and collapsed heavily on his injured arm, starting to sob in pain and fear.  Incubus hauled him to his feet again and shoved him forward, and this time the winged thief watched him go with her sense of grave satisfaction back.  One by one, she watched her friends and companions file out behind them, each with a range of dark expressions on their faces, until only Batman and the Riddler were left on the roof with her.  Instantly, she was uncomfortably aware of their gazes upon her.

“Guen…” Edward’s voice was soft, and she glanced up at him as he approached her slowly, stretching out a hand.

There was a second of panic in her heart and she shifted her wings to block him, and he stepped back, looking as hurt and confused as Ramsey had that one time.  Perhaps more so.  And in that second, she remembered Lance’s earlier words.

_“How do you know Nygma is your Lancelot and not your Arthur?”_

Annoyance made her want to defy her brother, despite the fact he wasn’t there.  But there was no point in it at the moment.  Lance was just pessimistic, that was all.  She opened her mouth to speak, to try to soften the blow of her blocking Edward.

“Miss Pendragon.” Batman interrupted, and she looked at him, relieved for the momentary interruption.  “I’m sorry for what happened to you.  Doubtless words are of little comfort to you right now, but I am sorry.”

She nodded mutely, unsure what to say.

“Incubus told me that you wanted to speak to me?” He pressed on.

“Actually…yeah.” She replied, before holding out her fists with her wrists turned up.  “I wanted to turn myself in.”

“What?” Riddler gasped in disbelief, moving to her side to get her attention.  “Guen, surely you’re not serious!”

She didn’t look at him; her eyes were locked with Batman’s, and he was surveying her cautiously.

“I’m dead serious,” she declared quietly, “I still have everything I stole.  I know where it is, and who each piece belongs to.  I don’t really need them.  They were just kind of like…clues.  Things I was using to try to trigger some of my memories.  I don’t need them.  And I’m tired of this—this—well, this.  I want to return the stuff, and to stop—well…that is…”

“I think I understand what you’re getting at, Wraith.” Batman mercifully said when she trailed off at a loss for words.  “You realize that you’re still going to have to go on trial.”

“Yes.” She answered.

“I can’t guarantee leniency from the court.”

“I know.”

“And you still want to turn yourself in?”

She gave a small shrug.  “Looks better if I come quietly, doesn’t it?” She asked.  “I just figure this is the better option if I want to get away from Milo for good, and work on…on healing.”

“Guen…” Riddler murmured again, his voice heavy with emotion.  Batman simply stared at her for a long moment, then put a paternal hand on her shoulder.  She wanted to flinch away at first, but calmed down a moment later, knowing he wasn’t going to hurt her, and allowed herself to be steered away.

“Come with me.” The dark knight said gently.  “There’s someone I want you to meet.”


	19. Epilogue

Rook shifted uncomfortably as he watched the conversation carry on.  The last thing he wanted to do was be back in Arkham, even if it was in disguise.  He hovered near Incubus, grateful for the young vigilante’s presence, but his gray eyes darted more than once to Milo and Lady Templar.

“I trust you will be able to house him among your patients?” The female vigilante said testily, as Milo continued to mutter and moan nonsensically.  The doctor they were speaking with, Professor Strange, royally gave Rook a case of the heebie-jeebies, and seemed all-too delighted that they were bringing a new ‘patient’ in.

“Of course we’ll be able to accommodate him.” He answered Lady Templar genially.  “Arkham has more than enough room for Professor Milo.”

Rook shivered a bit.  True, it was thanks to the hallucinogens he had been ordered to steal that Milo was going to be locked up here rather than in the prison he had been in before, but something about Strange gave the young gunner an uneasy feeling.  He almost pitied Milo…almost.

“In fact,” Strange continued, “I had had a discussion with a fellow man of learning who has kept up with Professor Milo’s progression, and he was…banking on the idea that the mania of this man would eventually lead to his incarceration in our establishment.  I shall be delighted to report to my acquaintance and tell him he was right.”

He turned and called two orderlies, who took Milo’s semi-conscious form by the arms and led him away.

“And I thank you for your help, Miss—?“ Strange prompted, but Lady Templar merely gave a nod of acknowledgement and strode away, looking quite pleased with herself.

“Don’t mind her, that’s just how she is.” Incubus waved it off.  “Thanks for the help, Professor Strange.”

Rook turned on his heel and moved at a power-walk, preceding his friend out of the door.  The sooner they got out of there, the better.  And in any event, he had Lance, Edward and the girls to report back to, now that Milo was no longer a threat.

*****

Clio Zeus was overcome with relief when she received the call from the Gotham City Police Station.  Fear, anxiety, worry, and many other things that plague the mind of a mother missing her child had been eating away at Clio for months.  First she had been terrified, worried sick, when her daughter had vanished from her home.  When she learned Guen was alive and well, and consorting with Two-Face on top of it all, she felt bitterly betrayed and angry.  Then her son had mentioned Guen was in danger, and anxiety had kept Clio up several nights a week.

Now she knew where her daughter was, and all she cared about was seeing her again.  She would have more than enough opportunities to lecture her daughter for her reckless behavior after the relief wore off.

She pulled into the visitor parking and shut the car off, glancing briefly at her hair in the mirror.  There were several strands of gray among the blond.

“I probably look a fright.” She muttered half-heartedly, shutting and locking the car behind her.  A couple of officers met her as she walked up the stone steps to the glass doors, and they respectfully stood to either side, escorting her in.  They led her through the halls, past several other working officers, to an interrogation room.  Tentatively, they opened the door and let her inside, revealing a figure sitting in wait, enormous gray wings protruding over the back of a chair.  Clio’s breath caught in her throat.

_My daughter’s wings aren’t that big…they’re blue, not gray…How can this be my Guen?_

The young woman looked up as Clio entered, and her face was tear-stained, her green eyes were dull.  Still, in spite of this, she attempted a smile.

“Hey, Mom.” She whispered.  The officer sitting with her looked up at this, studying Clio with a critical eye.

“Guen?” She whispered, moving forward jerkily, before half-collapsing with her daughter in her embrace.  “Guen!  Oh, my baby!”

“Mrs. Zeus?” The officer asked warily, and through her tears, she looked at the woman, truly observing her for the first time.  She was of average height, with sleek black hair pulled up in a high ponytail and a distinctly Oriental face.  She wasn’t dressed in a uniform, but non-descript clothes that were loose enough to allow her a good range of movement and weapon concealment.  Not some petty officer then, but a detective.

“Yes?” Clio asked, nodding at her, and the woman stood, extending her hand for a shake.

“Detective Ellen Yin.” She introduced herself.  “Your daughter is a criminal and a thief.”

“Forgive me my sensitivity, but I don’t appreciate your bluntness at this moment, detective.” Clio said coolly, folding her arms.

“Mom, it’s okay,” Guen murmured, “Let her finish.”

Yin gave the younger woman a somewhat started look at this, but recovered quickly.

“Thank you, Miss Pendragon.  Please, do not misunderstand, Mrs. Zeus,” she began, “The rest of the police and I simply cannot ignore what your daughter has done in the past.  She’s going to go on trial and receive a sentence for what she has done.  However, she confessed to it all to us and will do so again under oath, _and_ she returned all of the property she’s stolen since she first began her little escapade.  Not to mention…she’s been through a lot.  Batman’s told us.”

Clio raised her eyebrows sharply and looked at her daughter, startled.  Guen looked back at her out of dull, haunted eyes that appeared far older than they should have.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you about.” She muttered.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” she whispered, turning and embracing her daughter in another tight hug, “It’ll be alright.”

“She’s probably going to need some therapy, Mrs. Zeus.” Yin explained heavily.  “But the point is the court might go easy on her.  That’s what the department is hoping for.”

“What do you mean; it’s what the department is hoping for?”

“Well, let it be said that if she gave us any information on the whereabouts of Two-Face, we could ensure she gets off easy, but since she’s not talking—“ here, the detective threw the young rogue a flat look, and Guen returned it with her jaw set stubbornly, “—we don’t have a complete guarantee.  We’re trying to push for her to be put on probation.  The fact she owned up to what all she’s done means Gordon has a lot of hope for her.   _Batman_ has a lot of hope for her.  Perhaps you could help out with the trial, see if we can’t—“

“Detective,” Clio sighed, “Please, just cut to the chase without dissembling the matter.  I am not in the mood for this right now.  What does the Gotham City Police Department want with my daughter?”

Yin smiled at them both.

“We want her to become a criminal consultant.”

Clio reeled back in shock.  They wanted her Guen to become a _criminal consultant_?!  Did they have _no_ idea what that felt like, hearing that her daughter would be put in further danger?  Had this detective no consideration for the fact that she, Clio, was the mother of this ‘criminal’??  Had the police no consideration for any of this?

“Mom, please calm down,” Guen spoke up, and Clio realized her feelings must have shown on her face.  “It’s not really as bad as it sounds.  And it’s something I want to do.  I’d rather be helping the cops for the duration of my sentence than be put on house arrest and become bored out of my skull.”

The older woman gave a huff, but said nothing.  She was clearly outnumbered at the moment, and she knew her daughter was stubborn to a fault.  Logann had explained as much.  Instead, she silently resolved to have a talk with her daughter about all of this later.

On the other side of the one-way mirror of the interrogation room, two figures continued to watch the scene unfold.  They had been silent for quite some time, but then, one of them spoke.

“She’s a good kid.  Confused, but there’s something good in her.  Is that why you brought her here to us?”

“It’s rare I see any of them truly reform, Jim.” The other figure answered quietly.  “Penny-ante crooks, scared people who turn to crime in order to survive…they stand a pretty good chance of being turned around.”

“But almost never any of our friends from Arkham.” Commissioner Gordon finished with a nod and a sigh.  “I know.”

“Something tells me she’s not as far gone as all that.” Batman murmured.  “If we can help Miss Pendragon to save herself…”

The two trailed off into silence again for a time.

“Yin will help set her straight.” Gordon remarked confidently.  “She’s young, just newly transferred from Metropolis P.D. and learning the ropes from Montoya, but she’s more compassionate than she lets on.  She’ll help Miss Pendragon.  We all will.”

He turned to look at his looming, cowled friend, but unsurprisingly Batman had vanished.  Gordon rolled his eyes at this before turning back to look through the glass and study the young woman with wings.  They had criminal consultants before, but none like this “Wraith.”  Unconsciously, the commissioner fumbled in his breast pocket for a cigarette, needing to unwind a bit from all the mayhem surrounding this young woman.  Something in his gut told him she was going to be a handful.


End file.
